


Ten Months

by Majure



Series: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (its an oc), Addiction, But only a little, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Gen, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Violence, also the rating will probably go up, bed sharing, characters as ghosts, gratuitous princess bride references, im giving Dave a backstory because the TUA writers sure fucking didnt, it only in chapter one, pay attention to the tags as they update bc shit will get wiiiild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2019-11-28 22:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 94,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majure/pseuds/Majure
Summary: It makes him sad, sometimes, that in order to find acceptance, Klaus has to travel back fifty years into one of the bloodiest wars of American history. Most of the time, he doesn't care. His family probably doesn't even notice he's missing anyway.---Dave is looking at him, eyes soft and heavy lidded. “What did you say to that guy?” he asks, head resting on the wall, body turned towards Klaus.“Ah,” Klaus laughs, dropping his hand to take a drink. “Just mouthed off. You know how I am.”“That mouth will get you in trouble some day,” Dave says softly.Klaus looks up, swallowing. “Some people like my mouth,” he says.“I do.”





	1. Month One

The guys don’t really know what to make of the new guy. He stares off into space a lot, lips moving soundlessly. It’s not that they aren’t used to vets talking to themselves or the occasional oddball loner, but this guy is different. He’s slight, wiry, notable scars in the crooks of his elbows. He wears makeup smeared around his eyes like some kind of nancy boy and is a bit too jumpy for everyone’s tastes. He carries that stupid briefcase around with him all the time. Chaz doesn’t even want to touch that can of worms. 

There’s an aura around him that can only be described as strange. He’s manic and slow all at once, ready for violence if he’s not the one perpetrating it. Chaz catches him a few times without his mask of carelessness and the haunted look in his eyes had followed Chaz to next morning. It was nothing, really. They were all at war. When Chaz shoves a helmet onto the new guy’s head and a gun in his hands, he stares at it like he’s never seen one before. 

“What are they teaching in basic nowadays,” Chaz sighs. He points at the trigger and on the grip on the barrel, putting the new kid’s hands where they’re supposed to go. “Don’t squeeze the trigger till you’re sure you want to shoot,” he says, then claps him on the shoulder and moves off. 

Johnson doesn’t think much of him at all and rolls his eyes when anyone asks. “Fuckin’ new guy,” is all he mutters. 

Katz is the first one to talk to him and actually break the ice - partly because he's just nice like that and also because Chaz told him to. When he comes back to Chaz after a quiet conversation on the bus, Katz looks all sad, but he looks at everyone with that wistful little sigh, so it doesn’t mean anything. After that, the new kids seems a little more open. 

The new guy - he said his name is Hargreeves, K- something Hargreeves - isn’t all together bad. He loses his shit a lot though. Didn’t even have issued gear or tags when he showed up. As a sergeant, Chaz had been the one to grudgingly take care of it. Despite his bad habits, the kid does what he’s told (albeit with that bewildered look in his eyes) and doesn’t complain beyond the occasional, “God, it’s hot,” or “Fucking mosquitoes.” All stuff they’ve heard before. None of the guys in their little squad have had the time to get to know him; some of them don’t even _want_ to. 

“I can’t believe they fucking replaced Barnes already,” Johnson gripes as he’s yanking off his gear for the night. Hargreeves isn’t around; Chaz has noticed that he likes to slip away at night and stumble back after everyone has gone to sleep, buzzed and grinning pleasantly. It’s only Chaz and Johnson in the tent right now; however much Chaz wants to change that, he’s dead tired. Everyone else is in the mess hall eating a well earned dinner. Chaz just wants to sleep. “He died three days ago and they already have a replacement.” 

“That’s war.” Chaz sighs and collapses into his cot. The blankets are scratchy and his pillow smells faintly of mold, but he’s been in Vietnam for three months already and anything is better than nothing. 

“It’s bullshit is what it is!” 

“You know we’d get the same treatment, Johnson. Quit whining.” 

The tent flaps rustle as Katz strides in. “What’s Johnson whining about now?” he teases. Katz is the only one in their squad everyone actually likes - except Johnson, because Johnson doesn’t like anyone. He’s funny, a real all-American boy type. Chaz had thought that Johnson and Katz would get along swimmingly when he first saw the two of them. The squad would be a hell hole if Chaz had to put up with two whitebread Americans. Chaz been pleasantly surprised when Johnson and Katz almost got into a fist fight within hours of knowing each other, and Chaz had bought Katz a drink.

Johnson snarls and hurls an empty can at Katz’s head. Dave ducks it, laughing as he sits on his own cot. “But really,” Dave says. “What’s the deal?” 

“Johnson’s complaining about the new guy,” Chaz mutters. 

“I like him,” Dave says. At Chaz’s look, he says, “He’s funny and not a stuck up asshole. What’s not to like?” 

“Everything?” Johnson says. “Look at him. I can’t believe we’re so desperate we’re letting people like him in.” 

Chaz doesn’t miss the way Dave stiffens almost imperceptibly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean he’s obviously some kind of queer.” Johnson scoffs. Dave’s eyebrows crease. “I just can’t believe we’re losing the war so badly that they have to let people like _him_ in.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Johnson,” Dave snaps. “He isn’t hurting anyone.” 

Johnson stalks closer to Dave’s cot. “Why are you defending him?” he asks, sounding too innocent. “Don’t tell me you’re-!” 

He’s cut off as Dave leaps to his feet, grabbing Johnson’s collar in a fist. Chaz sits up, prepared to yank them apart. “Finish that sentence and I’ll break your face,” he snarls. 

Johnson scoffs and shoves him off. When Dave doesn’t retaliate, he rolls his eyes and heads for the entrance. “That’s what I fucking thought,” he says. As a final jab, he snaps, “Fucking asshole.” 

Dave lets out a breath as Johnson’s footsteps fade away. “Shit,” Chaz drawls. 

“What?” Dave snaps. 

Chaz raises his hands, eyes wide. “Johnson’s just being more of an asshole than usual, that’s all.” 

Dave eyes him for a brief second, then sighs and collapses back on his cot. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it on the floor. “I’m so fucking tired,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Chaz sighs. “Me too.” 

The tent flaps rustle. Chaz thinks it’s Johnson back for _And another thing!_ but speak of the devil and he will come. It’s just Hargreeves, waltzing into the tent with a cigarette between his fingers. He’s shirtless and vestless, displaying a mottled array of cuts and bruises across his wiry shoulders. “What has got Johnny’s panties in a twist?” he asks on his way to his own bed. He squeezes the toe of Dave’s bot, jiggling it as he passed. 

“He doesn’t like you,” Dave says. 

Hargreeves laughs. “Oh yeah? Should tell him to get in line.” 

“To be fair,” Chaz says. “Nobody likes Johnson either.” 

Hargreeves takes a hit from his cigarette which Chaz is beginning to think isn’t actually a cigarette. He’s considering asking for a hit. “I got a brother just like him,” Klaus sighs, eyes sliding shut. He puffs a smoke ring up towards the ceiling of the tent. “Big broad asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else. Get out of the van, Klaus!” he says in a mocking lilt. 

Chaz and Dave share a look. “The van?” Dave asks. 

“Ah,” Klaus says. He chuckles. “Long story.” 

"Tell us anyway," Chaz says, reaching over to bum a hit off Klaus' joint. 

Klaus raises his eyebrows. There's a hint of an incredulous grin on his on his lips. "You won't believe me if I do." 

Chaz and Dave level Klaus with their best _I'm a sergeant and you have to listen to me_ look. "Come on," Dave says, illusion disappearing. "Please?"

Evidently, the Katz puppy eyes are irresistible, so Klaus laughs and steals his joint back from Chaz. After a few good puffs, Klaus begins weaving a tale about super powers, time travel, a child assassin and a villain named Luther. Maybe it's the weed, but it has Chaz laughing. As people begin to trickle in for bed, Klaus' voice softens but doesn't stop. Maybe, Chaz thinks, that the new kid is weird. But he isn't all bad.


	2. Month Two

Klaus has never killed another living being before. He was no stranger to death of course; Reginald Hargreeves had desensitized his children to violence and years of living on the streets surrounded Klaus with the dying. Not to mention the spirits - Klaus had seen the inside of someone’s skull when he was four years old. Ghostly wailing had been his lullabye until he decided to drown it out with drugs and alcohol. That’s probably why Klaus feels so squeamish at the thought of killing anything. He doesn’t need any ghosts with a vendetta against him. 

His powers had never been very useful for missions, so Reggie never bothered making him a killing machine the way he did with Diego or Luther. Even Allison’s power had violent potential, but all Klaus could do was talk to those already beyond saving. Sure, Klaus had _hurt_ people before in bar fights and back alley scraps, but he’d always done the right thing and called his paramedic friends before booking it. 

Klaus was no stranger to the dead and the dying, but it was different when _he_ was the one who made them that way. It was one thing to see spirits milling around a battlefield and another to watch a man he’d just shot stumble to his feet, the bullet that killed him lodged forevermore in his head. 

In the battles they’d fought in since Klaus’ arrival, he’d done his best not to actually shoot anyone. He provided covering fire, shooting over the heads of the enemy. It worked, for a while. It was chaos in the fights, so no one could really tell Klaus was missing on purpose, but Klaus would joke about his terrible aim anyway. Johnson doesn’t like it. Johnson doesn’t like _him._ Johnson is exactly the kind of all-American boy that played football in highschool and tallies his kills on the butt of his rifle. In brief moments of sobriety, Klaus can see the hordes of his victims tailing him around, spitting curses in a language Johnson doesn’t understand and doesn’t care to - but he isn’t the only one. They all have ghosts. 

Klaus included. 

His first kill really is an accident. It’s just dumb luck. Bad karma, fate, whatever you want to call it. Klaus is doing what he’s always doing during these skirmishes - hiding behind the sandbags and firing at the trees over the heads of the Viet cong. The fighting and smell of gunsmoke still makes his hands shake and his heart pound, but there’s a thread of exhilaration winding through Klaus’ body as he shoots in controlled bursts. And then, someone pops up from the trench just as Klaus pulls the trigger. 

His head whips back and he falls, blood and brain spraying across the jungle behind him. A shout of agony comes up from the enemy soldiers. Klaus feels himself go still. Beside him, Dave whistles. “Some shot, Klaus,” he says. 

“I-”

The man he’d just shot stands up. Half his head is missing. He stares out at them, murder in his one remaining eye. He can’t know who did it; there’s too much going on, but Klaus feels his burning eyes all the same. “Fuck,” he gasps, ducking down below the sandbags piled up to protect them. All at once, the noise is too much. The stench of blood clogs his nose. The mud caked under his fingernails feels unbearable; tears spring into Klaus’ eyes and he digs his fingers into the hair matted down beneath his helmet. “Fuck,” he says again. 

Dave sinks down beside him, eyes worried. “What’s wrong, man?” 

“I killed someone,” Klaus says. The voice doesn’t feel like his own. “I killed someone.” 

Dave’s eyes soften a fraction, but there isn’t time for comfort. They’re on the move, and their lieutenant is shouting at them to get up and run. Klaus is numb as Dave bolts to his feet, hand fisted in the back of Klaus’ flak jacket, and then he’s stumbling into the trees after the rest of their battalion. It’s a blur. Gunfire follows them. It’s a miracle Klaus doesn’t get shot with the way he’s stumbling, dazed and confused. It’s only because of Dave’s voice that he knows which way to run. 

Eventually the shooting stops. They keep running. Klaus and Dave had gotten separated at some point, but Klaus can hear him barking orders from somewhere up at the front of the line. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically. Running had kept his mind off the fact that he’d killed, but now that they were slowing to a halt, visions of the man he’d shot were coming to the forefront of his mind. 

Klaus doesn’t feel like himself, like he’s even in his own body. The ghosts of the men they killed follow, wailing. Klaus keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, too afraid of seeing the face of the man he killed. Klaus remembers a brief moment where his hands fumble for the flask inside his jacket and he takes a few sloppy swallows of whiskey. 

Some of the other soldiers who notice just nod and sigh. Everyone copes differently. It’s not their place to judge, especially when Klaus’ hands stop shaking and he can breathe a little easier now that the ghosts following them have disappeared. “Hey,” a voice says. Klaus turns, eyeing Chaz. Chaz has never said anything about Klaus’ clandestine habits before, but he sure looks irritated about it now. “You think drinking while we’re on the run is smart, Hargreeves?” 

“Well, if I had anything to smoke…” Klaus grins. “You got anything, by the way?” 

Chaz huffs. “Keep a lid on it, Hargreeves,” he says, giving him a look at makes it impossible for Klaus to forget that Chaz is technically his superior. While Klaus never formally joined the army, it still says ‘private’ on his dog tags. 

The impossible thing is, Klaus _can’t_ keep a lid on it. Sobriety will get him killed just as fast as being totally fucked up. When the ghosts get too loud, Klaus can’t tell the difference between the dead reenacting their murders or the approaching footsteps of the living. He can’t tell if that bleeding man is covered in his own blood or the blood a of a friend he’s avenging. When the few hasty gulps of whiskey he’d choked down on an empty stomach begin to wear off, Klaus is left surrounded by hundreds of angry spirits, and every time he reaches for his flask, Chaz shoots him an angry glare. 

Klaus is right, he supposes, even if he hates it. If someone got killed because Klaus was too drunk to notice a man with a gun, it would just be one more ghost to drown out later. So he refrains as he walks, fingers twitching at his sides. He wishes he had Dave. He wishes he had pills. He wishes his briefcase wasn’t shoved in the bottom of his bag on the back of their singular jeep. To anyone else’s ears, the forest would be near silent. To Klaus, it’s filled with the wailing of the departed. Chaz disappears into the swarm of bodies, so Klaus takes the opportunity to slip into the jungle and duck behind the trunk of a tree. Shaky hands search his pockets for a joint or handful of pain pills and comes up empty handed. 

Klaus swears, clenching his hands. He slumps against the trunk of the tree, staring up at the few stars that manage to break through the thick jungle canopy. “Rough night?” someone asks and Klaus jumps. It’s just Dave, hands in his pockets. The first thing that comes to mind is _This is exactly why I need to be high, Goddamnit, Chaz._ If it had been a VC, no doubt Klaus would be dead. Then Chaz would probably blame him for sneaking off in the first place or something. Sounds like him. 

Klaus sighs, sliding down the trunk of the tree to crouch on the jungle floor. Dave picks his way over, sitting next to him and resting his arms on his knees. “You could say that,” he mutters. 

“Chaz told me you’ve got the shakes,” Dave says casually. Klaus grunts. “How long have you been using?” 

“Does it matter?” Klaus snaps. Dave raises his eyebrows. As a sergeant, Dave is technically Klaus’ superior too, but it’s so easy for Klaus to forget that. He’s too nice, and Klaus has never had to take orders from someone who introduced himself so sweetly before. Dave walks a weird dichotomy between officer and common man that Klaus isn’t entirely sure isn’t a trick. 

In a more defeated tone, Klaus asks, “Why do you care?” 

“You’re my friend,” Dave says. He shrugs. “At least, I consider you a friend. Going through withdrawals in this place must be doubly hell.” 

Klaus picks at a bit of mud caked on his knee. “Yeah,” he sighs. 

There’s a beat where all they can hear is the chirping of the crickets. Even the dead don’t seem to be near, though Klaus knows they aren’t too far away. “So?” Dave prompts. 

“Since I was thirteen,” Klaus sighs, thinking back to many a joint rolled under the dining table, quite literally under Reggie’s nose. If Dave is surprised, Klaus doesn’t give him the chance to ask. “I’m haunted by my past in a very literal sense. I don’t want any of your sympathy, okay?” 

Dave looks at him, eyes squinted. Klaus feels bare; he fidgets away from Dave, hunching his shoulders. Like dawn breaking, Dave’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says. “That man you killed today. That was your first, wasn’t it?” 

“Yup,” Klaus says. His voice cracks, even though he tries to smile. “Popped my cherry, so to speak. Or - you saw his head go. Popped his cherry more like, ha.” 

Dave reaches out to touch him, Klaus wants to flinch away from his touch but he doesn’t. He feels close to crying. Shame burrows its way into his chest, twisting and rooting deeper and deeper until it’s grown through him. “Oh, Klaus,” Dave says. That’s all it takes for the dam to burst and then Klaus is crying, knees drawn up to his forehead as he tries to muffle his sobs. 

Dave doesn’t draw him in or hug him, but his hand stays on Klaus’ back. It moves up to the nape of his neck when Klaus bows his head to cry. The heat is an anchor; a reminder of living things. When Klaus has stopped crying, he doesn’t know how much time has passed. They’re probably wanted back at camp, but Dave makes no suggestion to get up and return. Klaus doesn’t want to anyway - not with his makeup streaked down his cheeks and his eyes red and puffy from crying. 

He lifts his head a little, lips pressed against the grimy material of his pants. “Does it ever get any easier?” he rasps, tasting salt. 

Dave is silent for a long time. “No,” he says. “It never does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea of Dave being an NCO, so i made him a sergeant. Sergeant David Katz. im not sure if his rank is ever officially stated, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> if there are any typos let me know! after a while, everything starts to blend together. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Month Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a fucking beast. It's actually longer than the previous two chapters combined. i want each chapter to build a little bit more on the last, but this seems excessive.

It’s not exactly a secret that Klaus is an addict. Chaz had him pegged the second he laid eyes on him. Master sergeant turns a blind eye because they needed every body they could get, and everyone copes differently. When Chaz told Dave, Dave couldn’t say he was shocked. He had an uncle who was alcoholic. He’d started drinking after the war and didn’t stop until the day he died. Dave had only met him a few times, but based on what he could remember, he looked a lot like Klaus. It makes Dave sad to think about it. 

He _likes_ Klaus. Klaus is vibrant in a way his uncle hadn’t been. He’s loud and all over the place, easy smiles that fit seamlessly into any environment. He’s always the first to notice when someone in their squad is down, and the first to crack a joke to cheer them up. His manic energy would have been annoying from anyone else. Even the master sergeant, notorious for his bad moods and legendary screaming fits, would crack a smile when Klaus was being Klaus. 

Maybe it’s the drugs that are Klaus’ addiction of choice and not alcohol that makes him so, but it doesn’t make Dave any less nervous. He can’t stand to think of Klaus going out the same way his uncle had - alone, sick, and too drunk to even notice he was dying. 

Dave had gotten high exactly once at a music festival in Los Angeles a week before shipping out. He’d been making the best of his boot leave, and when a group of friends decided to head to Cali and party, he’d tagged along. There wouldn’t be much point sitting around the house in Missouri while his mom cried, so Dave didn’t mind going. His best friend at the time, Roger Campbell, had dragged him to some beachside concert. 

The music was alright. A little loud for his tastes. He’d mentioned offhandedly it was giving him a headache. Campbell had winked and palmed him a pill, promising it would take care of everything. Dave had woken up on the beach the next morning with no recollection of the previous sixteen hours. The headache alone had been enough to put Dave off drugs for the rest of his life. He has no idea how Klaus can continually push himself to the limits and still walk around with a smile the next morning. 

It’s been about three weeks since Klaus had cried to him in the woods. There had never been a repeat of that night, but Dave had seen him kill since then. Whatever demons he'd been facing that night must have disappeared. Dave couldn't deny that it made him happy every time Klaus sought him out after that. He'd said that he considered them friends, and he'd meant it. If he could be a friend for someone the way nobody had been for him when he first got in country, well that was fine by him. 

Being Klaus' friends means being made aware of his strange habits, not the least of which is that he likes to talk to himself. More than once, Dave had walked in on Klaus having a hissed conversation to what seemed like thin air. Whenever Dave asked, Klaus would just mutter, "Don't worry about it," and move on, taking a swig from his flask.

Klaus also likes to slip out at night. Dave is a light sleeper, so any time Klaus comes or goes, Dave jolts awake, listening to him talk to himself. Dave had learned early on that Klaus did not like being confronted about that, so he just listens as Klaus says one evening, “Jesus, you guys are loud tonight." It’s close to midnight; he’d been tossing and turning for hours and if he couldn’t sleep, neither could Dave. The constant rain had picked up about an hour ago, booms of thunder accompanying the sound of shells being dropped on the front. 

Curled on his side with his back to Klaus, Dave listens to Klaus slide out of bed. “Shit, you don’t have to yell,” Klaus hisses to the darkness. Dave doesn’t know if Klaus talks to fill the silence, or there’s something in his permanently doped up brain that makes him think there’s someone there. “I’m right here. You might be deaf because of that goddamn mine, but I’m not. Inside voices, please!” 

Dave cracks one eye open, resisting the urge to sit up and look - he knows there won’t be anyone there. Throwing his jacket over his shoulders with a jingle of his dog tags, Klaus creeps on quiet feet towards the mouth of the tent. “God, I’m gonna need something strong if I’m going to get any sleep tonight.” If it weren’t for his constant chatter, he’d be pretty stealthy.

Once his voice has faded, Dave sits up and runs a hand over his hair. He wouldn’t have gotten to sleep anyway with Klaus muttering to himself, but now it was a guarantee. If one of his boys was missing, well. At least Dave knows Klaus’ habits. He’ll usually stumble back half an hour or so later, stupid high and grinning. Dave can wait. He’ll make sure the idiot doesn’t fall into the wrong bed or pass out on the floor. 

Only the thing is - Klaus doesn’t come back. Rainwater drips in a steady beat outside the tent, consistent enough that Dave can track the time. He lies awake for a good hour, staring at the ceiling of the tent. He’s exhausted and aching. Every time his eyelids slip shut, he has to jerk himself back awake. With each passing minute, he gets more and more concerned. 

At first, Dave tells himself that Klaus is just taking longer than usual. Maybe he made a pit stop. Maybe he even got caught and is spending the evening in the brig. Maybe he got snatched, a little voice in Dave’s brain supplies. Maybe he OD’d and is lying in the mud, dead or dying. When he hits the hour fifteen mark, he can’t sit around any longer. 

“Shit,” Dave groans, sitting up and running his hands through his hair. Jamming his feet in his boots, Dave heads for the entrance. He pauses, hesitating by Chaz’s bed and wondering if he should wake him up. Thinking better of it, he shakes Rivers’ bed frame instead. 

Rivers stirs then bolts awake, reaching for his gun. Dave presses a finger to his lips. “Shit, Katz,” he sighs in relief. Then, angrier, “What the fuck do you want? What time is it?” 

“Hargreeves left about an hour ago,” Dave says. “Do you know where he goes when he, you know…” 

“Gets high?” Rivers says dryly. He scrubs a hand over his face and sits up. “Yeah, I know. It’s easier if I show you.” 

Dave fidgets as Rivers pulls on his boots and grabs a coat. Some part of him is hurt that he even has to ask instead of just being able to go by himself. Klaus wouldn’t want more people involved than necessary, but Dave doesn’t exactly want to go wandering around the whole damn camp by himself.

Rivers isn’t taking any longer than usual to get ready, but it sure feels like he’s taking his goddamn time. Dave taps his foot, anxious. They practically rush out of the tent when Rivers is ready, Dave ushering him into the rain. They’re instantly soaked. Dave is glad he didn’t bother with a shirt; he’d rather have something dry to wear tomorrow. 

The rain is warm, but Dave still shivers. They walk a tense fifteen feet towards the temporary barracks before Rivers says, “Lighten up, would you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can practically feel you glaring at the ground.” Rivers plays with his lighter as they walk. Dave has no idea where Rivers is taking him, but they’ve headed past the mess hall towards the more permanent structures. There’s a shed over that way, facing a clearing - not quite at the edge of the fence, but near enough that it's out of the way to anyone not looking for it. 

“I’m just worried,” Dave says. “He never takes longer than half an hour.”

Rivers eyes him. “You’ve been keeping track?” 

“I’m his sergeant, Rivers. I keep track of all my boys.” 

Rivers shrugs. “Chaz doesn’t.” 

“Chaz is _Chaz.”_ They share a quick grin. Coughing, Dave adds, “Besides, I’m just looking out for him. He just got here; you know how it is.” 

Rivers nods. “I remember. I couldn’t stop talking to myself the first three days. Couldn’t stand the noise.” They stop near the edge of the clearing. Rivers stares around. “This is where he usually sneaks off to,” he says.

The space is about equidistant from the vehicle shed to the munitions bunker, a tiny little alley between the two walls. Dave spots a number of crates that are stacked conveniently to give access to the roof of the vehicle shed. One guard is sitting in front of the shed, visible only by the ember of his cigarette. Rivers jerks his head towards the vehicles. “I’ll look over here,” he says, and they split. 

Dave’s boots squelch on the ground as he trudges through the mud. He’s really starting to regret not grabbing a jacket, or a hat at least. Thick rivulets keep running into his eyes, dripping off the end of his nose. The guards on watch in front of the munitions bunker look at him suspiciously as Dave wanders past. Dave just raises a hand, grimacing. 

A shout comes from the opposite end of the building. “Katz!” 

Dave spins on his heel, sprinting away. He can feel the eyes of the guards on him as he runs, but there isn’t time to care. Skidding around the corner and nearly slipping into the mud, Dave stumbles down the narrow alley and turns left. Huddled in the corner formed by stacked crates and the shed wall is Rivers, clinging to a pale, still Klaus. Rivers, for all his bravado, looks scared. 

“Oh, shit.” Dave splashes into the mud, reaching out to pull Klaus upright. 

He peels Klaus’ eyelid back with a thumb. His eyes are like mirrors, hollow and unseeing. Dave’s blood runs cold as Rivers presses his fingers in the hollow of Klaus’ jaw. Klaus’ head lolls to the side. 

“Shit,” Rivers breathes. He sits back on his haunches. “He’s still alive.” 

Grabbing his skinny wrist, Dave hauls Klaus upright and tries to stand. The kid looks like he weighs fifty pounds soaking wet, but he’s surprisingly dense. “Help me get him to the medical building,” Dave puffs. Together, they haul Klaus out from under the shed. Lit by the distant fluorescent lights over the important buildings in camp, Klaus looks even paler. His head hands down, chin resting against a chest that barely stirs as Dave and Rivers drag him through the mud. 

“Hey,” Dave snaps, slapping Klaus’ face with his free hand. Rivers shoots him a worried look. Klaus stirs slightly, head shifting away from Dave’s touch. He hits him again, harder this time. “Hey!”

Klaus mumbles something that sounds like, “Ben?”

“You with me, Klaus?” 

Klaus tilts his head, looking at Dave from under his soggy black curls. “Oh,” he slurs. “Davey.” 

“Oh, thank Christ. You’re lucid.” Luckily, they're close to the middle of base, so they don't have to drag him too far before the building is in view. Dave adjusts his grip on Klaus’ arm, grabbing his wrist in his right hand and wrapping his left around Klaus’ waist to better support him. He jerks his head at the medical building and Rivers takes off running, boots slapping against the wet ground. “What the fuck were you thinking?” 

“Wasn’t,” Klaus mutters. “Just tired. They were so loud.” 

“Who?” Dave asks, but never gets his answer. Doc Watson and Rivers are headed his way, both soaked to the bone. 

“Is he alright?” Watson asks. “Not dead?”

“He was talking,” Dave says. 

“Only mostly dead!” Klaus says, high pitched falsetto. “Mostly dead is slightly alive.” 

Watson grimaces. “Get him inside.” 

Rivers grabs Klaus again and together, they haul him inside. Some of the patients stir at the commotion, lifting their heads as Dave and Rivers dump Klaus on the closest empty cot. Watson digs around in the cabinet. Klaus seems a little more lucid now, head rolling to the side. One hand scrabbles limply at a pocket and Dave yanks his hand away and snatches the bottle of pills he’d been going for. Klaus whines, but he’s too weak to stop him. 

“Doc.” 

Watson turns, catching the bottle Dave throws his way. “Fuckin’ A,” he exclaims. The glare he shoots at Klaus is nothing short of murderous. “That’s where those went?” 

“Fuck you,” Klaus whines. He makes a grab for Rivers’ wrist and Rivers shakes him off. “I need those.” 

“No you don’t,” Dave snaps. “You could have died, asshole.” 

Watson approaches, pen light in hand. Klaus thrashes, or tries to. Dave grabs his arms, pinning him down. Something flashes in Klaus’ eyes; for a second, Dave thinks Klaus is about to headbutt him and he jerks back on instinct, but Klaus just purrs in his ear, “Oh, I like you on top of me.” 

Dave flushes brilliant red. Rivers is coughing on a laugh, hands firm on Klaus’ shoulders. Watson just rolls his eyes. “I don’t think he needs to be treated too much,” Watson says, shining the light in Klaus’ eyes. “But we should keep him here overnight anyway.” 

“Right.” Dave lets Klaus go and straightens. To Rivers, he says, “You should head back to bed. Try and get some sleep while you can.” 

Rivers rolls his eyes. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mutters, turning out the entrance. “Later, Katz.” 

Dave stands at Klaus’ bedside and watches him for a few long seconds. His eyes are screwed shut, fists clenched in the fabric of his pants. Deciding he’ll be fine for a few minutes alone, Dave heads around him towards Doc. “Doc,” he says softly. “Will he really be alright?” 

“You did the right thing by bringing him,” Watson says. He shoots a disdainful glance at Klaus’ form on the bed. “Though I don’t like wasting space on on him when someone else might need it.” 

“You won’t see him in here again,” Dave promises. 

Watson eyes him. “I hope that’s the case,” he says. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Watson sighs. “Listen, I’m not going to kick up a fuss about something like this. It was a mistake. But if I ever see him in here again for an overdose, I’ll move to have him discharged. Am I clear?” Dave nods and can’t help but snap a salute. Watson shakes his head, sighing. “I’m going back to bed.” 

Dave watches him go. Once he’s sure Watson is out of earshot, he turns back to Klaus. He’s surprised to see that Klaus is still awake, staring at the flickering lights with something like resignation in his glassy eyes. “You’re an idiot,” Dave says. 

“You sound like my brothers.” There’s no bite to his words, but Dave flinches regardless. Klaus hitches a shoulder. “Whole family, really.” 

Dave drags a stool over from the corner of the room and sits. He runs his hands through his soggy hair, letting rainwater drip onto the floor. Sighing, Dave says, “I’m sorry, Klaus. I just… I don’t understand you.” 

“What’s not to understand?” Klaus drawls. “I’m a junkie. I live for the high.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Dave says solemnly. Klaus fixes him with a confused stare. “You’d be dead already if it were.” 

“Wow,” Klaus says, so breathy and sarcastic that Dave grits his teeth. “I can’t believe you just figured it out. I’ve been getting high wrong my entire goddamn life.” 

“Why are you such a prick today?” 

“Because I can’t do this!” Klaus cries suddenly. Dave draws back, eyebrows furrowing. He shoots a look to the patients in the other cots, but most of them seem too out of it to notice. Klaus continues, unaware. “I’m not like you, Dave! I’m not a good soldier! I don’t know how to do any of this.” 

“You think _I_ do?” Dave says, incredulous. “This isn’t easy for me! This isn’t easy for anybody! Goddamn, Klaus, I’m lucky if I get three hours of sleep a night with the time I spend worrying about your ass and waking up at ungodly hours!” 

Klaus blinks. Dave doesn’t know what’s so shocking about what he said until Klaus breathes, “You were worried about me?” 

Dave shakes his head in disbelief. “Of course I was, Klaus. I worry about you every time you sneak off in the middle of the night. When you hadn’t come back after an hour, I had to go find you.” 

Klaus’ face flushes red. “Oh.” 

Dave looks away. Measuring his voice, he says, “Listen, wake me up next time. We can go outside, shoot the shit, smoke a cigarette. Just let me know, okay? You'll make me grey if you don't." 

Klaus grins then, and snaps a lazy salute as best as he's able. “Sir, yes sir,” he says. Then he sobers a little and glances away, thumbs twiddling. 

There’s still one question left that has to be asked. Dave doesn't want to ask it, but he has to - Klaus had been talking about it before he left the tent. “Who were you talking to?” 

Klaus flinches, but asks anyway, “What?” 

“Don’t give me that shit.” Dave levels him with a stare. “You said they were loud. Who was? The tent was quiet and I _heard_ you say you needed to take something strong if you were going to get sleep.” 

Klaus presses his tattooed palms against his face. He lets a breath out, pushing his hair up out of his face. He’s staring resolutely at the ceiling, not at Dave. “You heard that shit?" he asks. 

"I'm a light sleeper." Dave doesn't feel bad about the deception. It had been necessary. If he'd just rolled over and forgotten about it, he wouldn't even be having this conversation. "Klaus-"

"I see the dead,” he interrupts. "All the time. All they do is talk, and talk. Drugs are the only thing that shut them up." 

Dave lets out a breath. “That’s all?” 

Klaus turns to him, eyebrows creased. “That’s _all?”_

“Sure,” Dave says. “A lot of the guys here see dead brothers. You should talk to one of them about it.” 

Klaus stares at him for a beat before letting out a disbelieving, cynical laugh. Letting his head fall back against the cot, he closes his eyes. “Don’t know what I fucking expected.” 

“Klaus-”

“No, just-” Klaus waves his hand, HELLO shining through the mud streaked on his skin. “Don’t bother,” he says, sounding so resigned Dave can’t help but wonder what he did wrong. What he’d said weeks ago comes to the front of his mind. _Haunted by my past in a very literal way._ Klaus smiles weakly. It’s tired, but genuine. “Thanks, Dave. Really.” 

Dave touches his arm, closing his hand over the umbrella inked into the flesh of his forearm. He doesn't have the energy to argue about the deflection right now. “Anytime, Klaus. Remember what I said, alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dave pushes away from the edge of the cot and stands. He’s soaked and shivering a little; it’ll be an uncomfortable day tomorrow if he can’t dig up a dry pair of pants. Right now, the thought of his cot had never sounded so good. Just as he’s about to reach the door, Klaus calls, “Dave?” 

Dave turns, covering a yawn. “Yeah?” 

Klaus looks hesitant. His eyes are darting to dark corners in the building. “Will you… stay? Tonight?” 

Dave closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Klaus is looking at the wall, face red and eyes bitter. Dave strides back to his bedside and pulls out the stool. He places a hand on Klaus’ arm again. “Of course,” he says, and the look on Klaus’ face has never been so full of wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 12:42 am....TECHNICALLY.... its been a day since i posted the last chapter.


	4. Month Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fourth month brings friends, among other things. Klaus is in over his head and he's only just begun, Dave is hopeless, and no one has any goddamn sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i dont know how war works. its called suspension of belief. 
> 
> \- these things get longer and longer. if yall expect the next chapter to be 12k words... well it might be based on how i've been working. yikes.

Klaus can be the first to admit that his little slip up in the rain had not been his finest moment. It had been a bad day - a bad _week_ if he was honest. The ghosts just wouldn’t shut _up._ Five men had died on a scouting op, ambushed in the jungle and slaughtered like dogs. Whatever magnetism drew ghosts to Klaus hadn’t held back, and the spirits circled him for days, whispering pleas in Klaus’ ears. 

He’d been careless and desperate and had taken too many pills to drown out the voices and the next thing he knew, he was staring up at Dave’s rainsoaked face. It was lucky Dave had found him. Klaus was lucky with Dave at all. When he’d put his hand on Klaus’ arm and begged him not to do it again, Klaus had wanted to either run away or kiss him. Maybe both. He’d promised to stay if Klaus needed him, and in that moment, he did. Klaus didn’t think Dave would follow through when he asked. Dave had paused by the door, eyes closed, and Klaus had expected a, _Now, Klaus? Already?_

Klaus had turned away, facing the wall, embarrassed. He didn’t look up until he felt Dave’s hand on his arm again. “Of course,” Dave had told him. It was the first time in Klaus’ life that he didn’t feel like a burden. Maybe that’s why, two nights later, Klaus doesn’t have much of a problem rolling over and nudging Dave awake. 

The ghosts had been too much. They’d been too much since Dave took his pills away. Weed and booze did a little, but Klaus was used to utter bliss the pills brought and not just a weak watery haze pulled over the spirits. But he had _promised,_ so that’s why at quarter to four in the morning on a dry night, Klaus slides out of bed and crouches by Dave’s bedside. 

“Hey,” he whispers, shaking the frame. Dave twitches, eyes sliding open. He squints at Klaus, then jerks back. 

“Oh, shit,” he says. “Scared the hell out of me, Klaus.” Klaus stares up at him, owl eyed. Dave guesses, “Rough night?”

“Yeah,” Klaus says, thinking back to the first time Dave had said that to him. He scratches a fingernail against the coarse material of the cot. “You said to wake you up, so…” 

“Yeah. Yeah!” Dave sounds a little too chipper for Klaus’ tastes, especially for the time. But he’s still grateful as Dave grabs his jacket. It isn’t raining for once, but the air is thick with mid-July humidity. At the edge of camp, the jungle is alive with noise. Klaus watches a pair of corpses struggle on the ground a few yards away, reliving their deaths in vivid detail. Dave shakes his shoulder and Klaus drags his eyes away from the men. Dave is holding out a lit cigarette, his own stuck in the corner of his lips. 

“Thanks,” Klaus says, taking it. It’s not the same as weed, but the smoky burn in his lungs can at least give him something to focus on other than the bloody corpses lurking at the edges of his vision. 

“You been alright? Don’t think I didn’t notice you weren’t at drills yesterday.” 

There’s a warning note in his voice hidden under the concern. Klaus smirks. “I wasn’t off getting high, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Dave lifts an eyebrow, motioning for him to elaborate as he pulls on his cigarette. “Had my head in the bushes puking my guts out. Got a doctor’s note and everything.” 

“Surprised Watson let you back into the medical tent.” 

“Not without locking all his cabinets first.” Klaus has never been exactly ashamed of his addiction. It was easy to blame it on his father or the abuse. He’d been able to excuse it as coping when he was younger - and it had been. Still was. Klaus never does anything without a reason, but for the first time, Klaus finds he’s embarrassed to talk about it with Dave. Not because Dave didn’t believe him about the ghosts. Not even because Dave had found him sprawled in the mud dangerously close to an overdose. Klaus doesn’t know why - he just doesn’t want Dave to think of him as a useless junkie. 

“Sobriety’s a bitch,” Dave says mildly. 

Klaus laughs, thinking of the eighteen hours he’d spent tied to a chair in a dingy hotel room, surrounded by the victims of two murderers. “Tell me about it.” 

They stand and talk until Klaus’ first cigarette has burned down to the filter, then the second, then the third. Dave tells him about his disastrous first - and only - time experimenting with drugs that has Klaus nearly crying from laughter. Klaus chain smokes as he listens to Dave talk, desperate for something to do with his hands. There’s no way to tell how much time has passed but the number of cigarette butts littering the dirt at their feet. Klaus would feel bad for keeping Dave up, but Dave has shown no inclination to head back to bed, so Klaus just lets him talk about anything and everything. Slowly, the sky lightens. 

Klaus yawns in the middle of Dave’s story of how he’d technically accidentally been promoted to Sergeant and Dave stops suddenly, blinking. “Aw, hell,” he says. “What time is it?” 

“Uh.” Klaus looks at the sky which has gotten pretty damn bright. “Good question.” 

As if in response, the six am bugle rings out across camp. The two of them wince, shooting glances at each other. “Great,” Klaus says dryly, feeling exhaustion hit him all at once. “Didn’t mean to keep you up all night.” 

Dave shrugs. “I said I’d talk with you, didn’t I?” 

Klaus laughs. “Yeah, I’m not used to people following through when they say things like that.” The look Dave gives him is so startled and sad that alarms start going off in Klaus’ head. _Lighten the mood!_ “I mean, I’m a high maintenance kinda guy, Dave. Not everyone can handle me,” he says quickly, shooting Dave a wink on reflex. 

Klaus hurries past him, which he reasons isn’t really running away because the master sergeant is on his way over and Klaus has to fall in line. He feels Dave’s eyes on the back of his head every step of the way. Klaus doesn’t know what it is about Dave that makes him so nervous. Maybe it’s the fact that Dave can draw an honest answer out of him any time he wants. Klaus would tell him all the Hargreeves family secrets if Dave cared to know them. 

It doesn’t make him scared, though. Klaus knows Dave would never do anything to betray his trust. It’s the reason why Klaus keeps returning to him, night after night when the ghosts get to be too much and Klaus doesn’t have anything to smoke. Sure, he’d stopped with the pills, but any time he could get his hands on weed, Klaus would take it. It was worth a couple hours of silence. 

As the weeks passed, it became less of a distraction for Klaus and more of a favored pastime to spend the evening talking with Dave. Dave even pulls Klaus into his little group of friends. He thinks, at one point, it’s novel that he has friends that aren’t born out of convenience. The friends he had before were drug dealers who wanted him to buy or people he’d sleep with to spend a night in a warm bed. With these men, it’s the first time Klaus has ever felt he belongs somewhere.

Sometimes, he, Dave, Chaz, Rivers and a surly fellow named Andrews will sit on the floor in their tent and play poker before everyone heads to bed, using cigarettes as their currency. _Sometimes_ turns into _often_ which turns into _nightly_. It’s the first real fun Klaus has had in a long time without the use of drugs, if he’s honest. It's friendly, innocent fun and Klaus can count on coming out a winner most of the time. Chaz is a _terrible_ poker player. 

“Aw, Fuckin’ A,” Chaz exclaims, picking up his hand. 

Klaus snorts into his canteen, looking away. “Do you know how to play poker, Chaz?” he asks, grinning. “You’re not supposed to give away your hand.” 

They’re deep into a game tonight. Most of the other soldiers are off utilizing their few hours of free time a night, so it’s just the five of them sitting on the floor, using Klaus’ cot as a poker table. A yellow kerosene lamp in the middle of the tent is their only source of light. Chaz has had an extraordinarily bad run of luck all night. Either that, or the spirit of a soldier who died last month sitting behind him helping Klaus cheat. 

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to do anything with this hand?” Chaz asks. “Fuck it, I fold. I’m done tonight. Quit while I’m ahead.” 

“If that was the case, you would’ve quit a long time ago,” Dave says, tossing three more cigarettes onto the growing pile in the middle. 

Klaus snickers behind his cards as Chaz grumbles. He has a pretty damn good hand himself. If he can bluff well and make people think it’s better than it is, he's got a pretty good chance of winning. Surprisingly, it's Dave giving him the hardest time. The guy has a good poker face and is absolutely _ruthless_. Chaz leans back, sparking up a cigarette from his meagre winnings. “Somebody tell me something happy to cheer me up,” he says in his sergeant voice.

Andrews glances up. He doesn’t talk much, but he also doesn’t mind Klaus’ ramblings. Klaus likes him. “My wife had a baby two weeks ago,” he says, tossing his own cigarettes onto the pile. 

Chaz’s eyebrows raise. “Yours, or…” 

“Yes, mine!” Andrews snaps. “Just because your girl sent you a Dear John doesn’t mean all girls are unfaithful.” Rivers, who had been taking a drink from his canteen, coughs as he laughs and Dave has to reach over and slap him on the back. 

Chaz colours, eyes widening. He growls, hunching his shoulders. “You’re an asshole,” he complains. 

“No shame in it,” Rivers says, wiping his mouth. He’s still grinning. It comes to Klaus’ turn to raise or fold. He raises, staring at Dave across the way. Dave smirks. Andrews quietly folds. Rivers continues talking, unaware of the silent battle going on between Klaus and Dave. “My girl sent me one too, but we’d only been dating like a week before the draft came, so it’s not like I was too broken up about it.” 

Chaz jerks his chin at Klaus. “What about you, huh Hargreeves? I never see you get mail, so you must have some faithful chick back home or none at all.” 

“You think _I_ look like the girlfriend type?” Klaus asks. Rivers glances between his cards and the ever growing pile of cigarettes, then sighs and adds his own. Klaus shakes his head. “I’m more of a Lou Bega kinda guy.” 

Chaz and Andrews share a look. “Huh?” 

“You know.” Klaus grins, shaking his shoulders. In his best impression of Lou Bega’s velvety voice, he sings, “A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side. A little bit of Rita is all I need, a little bit of Tina is what I see.” 

Three of them burst into laughter except for Dave, who’s still staring down his cards at Klaus. The betting comes back around and Rivers folds with a sigh. "Whatever. I'll beat you guys tomorrow."

It’s down to Dave and Klaus now. 

“Well,” Dave says. “How’s it look?” 

“Why don’t you fold and I’ll show you?” 

Dave’s lips twitch. “Don’t think so.” 

Klaus glances at the jackpot between them. “Lot of cigarettes,” he says. Chaz, Rivers, and Andrews’ heads swivel back between the two of them, watching their face off. “Enough to give you cancer for a lifetime.” 

“Tell you what,” Dave says, withdrawing an entire pack of unopened smokes - the good kind, too, not the shitty off brand garbage they could scrounge up in Saigon. These are real American cigarettes. Klaus has no idea where Dave got them, but he watches as Dave tosses the pack on the pile. “I raise.” 

Klaus chews on the inside of his cheek. His cards are good - four of a kind. Chances are Dave doesn’t have him beat. “Alright, fine,” Klaus says. He’s been aggressive with his betting all night; now is no different. Pushing everything out into the center, Klaus raises an eyebrow. “All in.” 

“Alright,” Dave says, shaking his head. There’s a little bit of a smile on his face and Klaus _can’t tell if he’s bluffing._

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Klaus says.

“Deal.” 

Klaus slaps down his cards. Rivers leans over, eyebrows raised. He whistles in appreciation and Klaus grins - only to look up and find Dave, arms crossed over his chest, smirking - and in front of him, a royal flush. “What!” Klaus cries as Dave leans forward to gather his winnings. Chaz laughs. “I thought for sure you were bluffing!” 

Dave laughs. “That’s the magic of a good poker face,” he says. “Which you, by the way, don’t have.” 

“I do too!” Klaus says, mock offended. “I grew up with six other siblings; I had to have a good poker face if I ever wanted to get away with anything!” 

“Did it ever work?” Dave counters. 

“Well, no-” 

Dave just shakes his head, smiling. Slowly, their little group disperses back to their own beds. No one has anything to bet anymore, and people will start coming back for lights out sometime soon. Chaz groans as he gets to feet and hobbles to his cot on stiff knees. Rivers sneaks a cigarette out of Dave’s winnings and Dave pretends not to notice. Gathering up the cards, Andrews shuffles them back into the pack and retreats to the other end of the tent. Klaus pouts, resting his chin on the frame of his cot. “Davey,” he says, eyes closing. “You cleaned me out.” 

Something hits Klaus in the forehead and his eyes blink open. A cigarette is lying on the cot in front of him. In Dave’s hand, the pack he’d bet is now open, two of them removed. His lips curl up. “Wanna smoke?” 

Klaus grins back and the two of them head outside. It's not exactly nice outside, but it's better than the stifling atmosphere in the tent. Klaus sucks in a breath, tasting rain in the air. Dave lights Klaus’ cigarette first, then his own. “Mmm,” Klaus says, eyes closing. “I’ve missed good tobacco.” 

“Me too,” Dave sighs.

“Where’d you find this?” 

“I’ve got my ways,” Dave says elusively, which Klaus takes to mean _officer privilege._ They smoke in silence for a while, enjoying the company. The ghosts are quiet today, and Klaus can appreciate the noise of the jungle for once. Klaus watches Dave out of the corner of his eye, glancing away whenever it seems like Dave might be looking at him, too. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. It’s almost concerning. 

“I hear we’re getting transferred up north,” Dave says, breaking the silence. “Not the front, but close.” 

“Lucky us,” Klaus says. “It’s almost like people keep dying up there or something.” Dave winces, ducking his head. Lowering his cigarette, Klaus says, “Dave?” 

“Sorry,” Dave sighs. “I just… I got a brother fighting at the front.” 

Klaus’ eyes widen. “Oh,” he says, suddenly feeling more like an idiot than he ever has before. Dave has never been open about his family; Klaus hadn’t even known he’d had siblings. He got letters from home almost every week, but Klaus had never pried into the details. “I’m sorry.” 

Dave bats a hand. “Nah, don’t be,” he says, offering a smile that tries and fails to look optimistic. “He’s been there for months. Career soldier, you know.” 

“I didn’t know.” 

“Don’t talk about ‘em much,” Dave says, hitching a shoulder. He looks down at his boots, playing with his dog tags. “Don’t get along with my dad much.” 

“Shitty dads are universal,” Klaus says sagely. That draws a laugh out of Dave and he looks up, grinning. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“Why doesn’t the old man like you?” Klaus asks. 

Dave chews on his lip, looking out across the camp. The sun has long since set; purple twilight was coming down around the camp. Cicadas buzzed in the jungle. Some unlucky troops were running drills off in the distance. For a while, Klaus doesn’t think Dave will answer. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “He never liked what I did or what I wanted to do with my life. He fought in the war you know, and Michael joined the army right out of high school. I never wanted that.” 

“What did you want to do?”

Dave ducks his head again, grinning as he runs a hand through his hair. “I wanted to be an actor,” he says. Klaus chuckles softly. “Or a musician. I play the piano pretty well. When I left high school, I went to college out of state just to get away from Missouri. Then I got hit with the draft and it didn’t matter what I wanted anymore.” 

“I think you’d be a good actor,” Klaus says. “A real Chris Evans’ Captain America.” 

“I don’t know who that is.” 

Klaus waves a hand. “Not important anyhow. I think you should do it when you get out of here.” 

Dave is smiling, leaning against the tent pole. “Oh yeah? Can I count on you to be my number one fan?” 

“I’ll go to every goddamn opening night,” Klaus promises, making an X across his chest. His fingertips singe and Klaus realizes he’s quite forgotten the cigarette. Wincing, he drops it on the ground and scrubs it out. “Well, there goes one of the good ones.” 

“More where that came from,” Dave says. 

“You’d really let little old me mooch off your _rightfully earned_ winnings?” 

“Well, of course,” Dave says, rolling his eyes theatrically. “You’re my number one fan.” 

And - _fuck,_ Klaus can’t think of anything clever to say in response to that. He is. He really fucking is. If Dave asked him to do it, Klaus would conjure Reggie and give him a big, wet kiss, forgive him for all the shit he put Klaus through as a child. If he hadn’t Klaus probably never would have met Dave. 

Unaware of Klaus’ internal turmoil, Dave slaps him on the shoulder and turns to head back inside. “You should get some sleep,” he says. “Bet it’ll be a long day tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Klaus says dumbly, watching Dave go. Goddamn fuck, he’s so far gone. He’s so far gone that he stands outside for a good ten more minutes as more and more soldiers trickle in for lights out. Klaus groans, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. What kind of dumbass catches feelings for a fellow soldier in the middle of a warzone? It sounds exactly like the kind of tragedy people love to make into award winning movies nowadays. 

_Your first real crush! Featuring: a Moron and Someone who’s Way Too Good For you!_

Klaus groans again. Someone gives him a weird look as he passes, but Klaus can’t pretend to care. He has a joint in his pocket and it seems exactly like the type of solution he needs for this particular problem. He strides off into the darkness, determined, and comes back later without a care in the world. 

\---

David Katz would consider himself a smart man. 

He’s a headstrong man, for sure. He never liked doing what he was told, which got him in trouble a lot as a kid. He's always been better at thinking on his feet and making his own plans. It makes him kind of an alright sergeant since there were fewer people yelling at him. He doesn’t like yelling at others, which makes him an absolute _terrible_ sergeant since he was expected to lead his men, not make friends with them. That’s where Dave had always failed. He’s more inclined to socialize and tell jokes, grin and poke fun at their superiors like good little soldier boys. 

Dave likes being nice. He likes being people’s friend. According to Chaz, Dave is the only person in their battalion everyone actually liked. Dave doesn’t know how true that is, but it still makes him smile. He’d befriended Klaus almost on principle in the beginning. When Dave had first got in country, there had been no one to watch his back or give him a friendly slap on the shoulder. When Klaus had first appeared almost out of nowhere, Dave had made it his personal mission to make sure the guy didn’t feel like an outcast. 

When he was a kid, there was a stray cat that lived on the street where the bus picked him up every morning. It was a mangy little thing, barely older than a kitten but barely more than skin and bones. It had taken three weeks for Dave to be able to coax it out of the bushes, and another two to get close enough to pick it up and carry it home. His mother would never let it in the house, but Dave put it in the barn and she ended up being an excellent mouser for ten years before she died. 

Klaus reminds Dave a lot of that cat. He’s ephemeral and wild, skittish beyond all hell. Any time anyone touches him, there’s a split second of panic like he isn’t sure they’re about to pet him or kick his teeth in. (Dave had once put his hand on the back of his neck, purely in innocence, and Klaus had nearly jackknifed out of his grip, shoulders hiked up around his ears. Dave wants to know who hurt Klaus, so he can track them down and break their noses.) 

Slowly but surely, Klaus came out of his shell. To Dave’s great surprise - there had been a shell. The frenetic energy he surrounded himself was a front, as was his blase attitude. He flitted from here to there, allowing himself to be bizarre and confusing in order to find out who cared enough to stay anyway. Dave did. 

And this is where Dave stops being a smart man and instead becomes a very, very stupid one. 

Because he has allowed himself to let his feelings turn in the exact _opposite_ direction of platonic. It’s not exactly love - it’s too early for that. Infatuation is a good word for it. When Klaus looks at Dave with those green eyes and smiles his heart stutters. When Klaus steadies himself against Dave’s shoulder and Dave can feel warmth seeping through his clothes for a split second, his heart nearly fucking stops. 

Everything Klaus says leaves Dave grinning and breathless and if he doesn’t stop being so fucking obvious about it, somebody is going to punch his teeth in. He feels like a schoolboy with his first ever crush. He’d had a few secret flings here and there; once as a junior in highschool, which had ended as soon as it started when the boy moved with his family. There was a kid in college, too - a year ahead of Dave, studying to be an engineer. Dave wanted more and he didn’t and that was the end of it. Pretty soon after, Dave had got the draft letter. 

With Klaus, though… it feels real. He wants it to be. Dave’s pretty sure Klaus isn’t into girls, or if he is, he wouldn’t mind taking a swing at guys, too. When he'd said he wasn't the girlfriend type, Dave had been delighted. When it was followed by Klaus' girlfriends by the number, Dave was thankful his poker face was good enough to hide his disappointment. Still... there was a flicker of hope. 

Every mildly flirtatious remark Klaus swings someone’s way makes Dave’s heart leap, with jealousy or hope or both, he doesn’t know. Klaus is like no one Dave has ever met. Dave will never meet anyone like Klaus ever again in his lifetime, which is why when he thinks he’s lost Klaus, his world nearly ends. 

It’s about mid afternoon, the day after their poker game. Dave had been right about their battalion being transferred, but he had no idea it was going to come so soon. He thought there’d be a few days at least, but no - Master sergeant Flores had strolled in at six am sharp and told them to pack up and haul ass, they were headed north. Klaus had grumbled the entire time and even his complaints seemed endearing to Dave. 

“How far away is this camp again?” he’d asked, shoving his curious black briefcase into his bag. Dave had told him about twenty five miles, and Klaus had wrinkled his nose, choking back a whine as Flores shot him a warning look. They’d hung near the back of the line, chatting and joking as they strolled out of camp. There was no bus to take them there this time; they would have to walk. It would probably take them a day or so to even get there. 

They’ve probably been walking for three hours when Klaus prompts, “I spy with my little eye, something green.” 

Dave snorts, then glances at the jungle they’re treading through. “Gee,” he says. “I dunno. The trees?” 

“No.” Klaus eyes him, a smile twitching on his lips. 

“The grass?”

“Wrong again.” 

It feels strange to be playing a children’s game while they’re walking shoulder to shoulder, guns at the ready, prepared for anything. The other soldiers in their battalion are spread out around them, walking in a loose line - the trail had spread out here, and the chance of mines was high. Dave shrugs. “The reeds?” 

“That’s just grass that thinks it’s special.” Klaus knocks on his head, ignoring Dave’s laugh that earns him a glare from Johnson who’s walking to their right. “Your helmet.” 

Dave grins. “Alright,” he says. Klaus motions for him to keep the game going and Dave hums, eyes searching. At first he wants to say green too, because Klaus’ eyes, but that’s too much. Dave looks at the jungle beyond Klaus, searching for a flash of red feathers that could be a parrot, or an iguana sunning itself on the trunk of a tree. 

His eyes catch the flash of something metallic instead. “That’s strange,” he says on instinct before his brain catches up with his mouth. Dave’s eyes go wide. Klaus turns, almost in slow motion towards the direction Dave is looking. Dave reaches out, fingers grazing Klaus’ collar as Dave shouts, “Sniper!” 

Time catches up with Dave faster than a speeding bullet. Because it is a bullet that hits him. He slumps to the ground, stunned, gun limp in nerveless fingers. His chest aches; the wind had gotten knocked out of him and his arm is burning in pain. Everything explodes around him. Dave can hear Flores shouting; in seconds, gunfire is ripping through the air. It takes a moment for common sense to come back to Dave. 

He rolls over onto his elbows, dragging himself through the grass to where he’d seen Klaus last. He’s nowhere to be found. Dave panics just a little, cursing, popping his head out of the grass. There’s a jeep not too far away, but it’s across an open stretch of land that’s currently being filled with lead by VC from the trees. Someone is shouting orders that are inaudible over the chatter of gunfire. Most soldiers near the jeeps had taken cover behind them and were shooting back. A couple lumps are suspiciously still in the grass. 

“Katz!” a voice shouts from his right. Dave looks, spotting Johnson hiding behind a cluster of reeds. It isn’t cover, but it’ll hide them well enough. Johnson jerks his head over. Dave scrambles up on his knees and sprints for it. 

“Klaus?” he gasps, nearly crashing into Johnson. He's a sergeant; he should be concerned about all his men, not just Klaus. And yet. 

“Grabbed him when you shouted sniper,” Johnson grunts, reloading. “Threw him towards the jeep. Saw you go down, though.” 

Dave curses, partially to hide his relief. “Anyone down?” 

Johnson shrugs. “Probably,” he says casually, then leans out from behind cover and starts shooting towards the trees. There isn’t much to do but follow suit. It works for a while, but like Dave said, the bush wasn’t _cover._ It was a hiding place at best, and when they were shooting out from behind it, the VC were bound to take notice. 

“Shit,” Johnson hisses, clutching his shoulder. A bullet had winged him. Blood drips between his fingers. “We can probably make it to that jeep if we run quick enough.” 

Dave peers around Johnson’s shoulder. It’s a good fifteen or twenty feet away - not that far, but when you were being shot at it might as well have been a fucking marathon. Other soldiers are crouched behind it, some of them motioning the two of them over. Dave notes with relief that Klaus is one of them, but he’s leaning around the corner of the vehicle, shooting into the trees. “You want to try that?” Dave asks dubiously. 

“I’ll cover you,” Johnson says shortly, hauling Dave around front. They’re both waiting for a lull in the fighting - as soon as it comes, Dave is launching himself across empty space. Gunfire picks up immediately, kicking up dirt at Dave’s feet. He slips, skidding the last five feet into the shadow of the jeep and bowling over another soldier - it’s Andrews, who helps Dave to his knees. Dave flashes a muddy grin and turns back to Johnson. 

There’s no lull in the gunfire this time. The VC know Johnson is there. He’s an easy target. If he stays, he’ll get shot, and if he goes, he’ll get shredded. Still, Dave can see him tensing, preparing to run. Dave meets his eyes, shaking his head. Johnson just shrugs like it’s any other thing and then he’s shooting out from behind cover. Dave swears, leaning out from behind cover and shooting, just praying it’ll work. Johnson makes it about halfway. 

A bullet wings him in the calf and he stumbles. That’s all it takes. A second bullet rips into his ribs, third one taking him in the collarbone. He’s already dead at that point, but the bullets don’t stop hitting him until he’s lying prone in the grass. Dave thinks, It should've been me followed immediately by I’m glad it wasn’t. 

A hand touches Dave’s back and he turns. Klaus is staring at him, wide eyed. His attention flicks to something behind Dave a couple of times but Dave doesn’t know what. Something wordless passes between them. Klaus’ hand travels up to Dave’s shoulder where he’d been grazed by the sniper. 

“Just a scratch,” he says. 

“Saw you fall,” Klaus says. “Thought you…” He doesn’t say it. 

Dave takes his hand - it’s wet with Dave’s blood - and squeezes it once before placing it back on Klaus’ gun. “No way,” Dave says. “I’m with you all the way.” 

Klaus smiles. It’s a tentative thing. 

It takes them three hours to get out of the firefight. Three of their soldiers die, Johnson not included. Dave hadn’t liked the guy, but it had been rough to watch him go. More soldiers are injured, but it’s not bad and certainly nothing they’re not used to. Dave and Klaus fight by each other the entire time. When the fighting finally stops and that tenuous stillness falls over the field, Dave breaks the silence by flicking the safety on his rifle. 

The soldiers he’s hiding with behind the jeep watch him take his helmet off, place it on the barrel of his rifle, and lift it into open air. When no sniper takes the bait, Dave replaces his helmet and slowly stands up. He doesn’t die instantly, which is a good sign. Other soldiers follow suit. Some begin to gather the bodies of the fallen, taking their dog tags to give to Flores. Some just watch, somber. 

At some point, Klaus wanders off and returns with Rivers and Chaz in tow. Chaz is limping on a bad sprain and Rivers has blood dripping down his thigh from a bullet graze. Out of the five of them, only Klaus and Andrews are unharmed. Klaus and Dave share a glance. They don’t play poker that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no concrete idea for how i wanted to write this fic when i started. I had vague ideas for nine chapters and i was like "ah, i can write 1000 word drabbles for each" and then i wrote chapter three and i was like... shit. So im experimenting a little. tell me if you hate it or love it or whatever. 
> 
> This chapter was a bitch and a half to write. I really enjoyed writing it, but it did not want to be written. If you would like a rundown on my writing process, here's the shit i spent like six hours doing today: 
> 
> \- had all of chapter 4 written back when i thought each chapter would be like ~1k to 1.5k words long  
> \- realized that shit wasn't gonna fly, so i scrapped that chapter and drafted about 4 others, using Beta chapter 4 as a rough guideline  
> \- wrote out a bunch of shit i wanted to happen that i thought i could fit into 4000 words or less  
> \- picked one that i liked and wrote about 2000 words   
> \- 1000 of those words didn't make sense in the context of the chapter and wasn't heading in the direction i wanted it to, so they got scrapped and set aside  
> \- the other 1000 words got sent to chapter 5 because it makes way much more sense   
> \- FINALLY started working on the chapter body  
> \- got distracted by editing the first two pages  
> \- realized i had switched tenses on accident  
> \- repeatedly smacked the keyboard until the chapter was birthed, almost as if fully formed from my brain


	5. Month Five - part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Klaus and Dave are disasters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, consistency. i wish i knew you.
> 
> you'll notice chapter number changed and that this is also part one of two! 
> 
> that's because all together, chapter five was almost 15 thousand words and it was just too much for one chapter. the narrative flow wasn't working the way i had it, and although i was attached to my chapter structure, i knew i had to make legibility for the readers a priority. 
> 
> maybe someday i'll work up the nerve to post beast chapters like that, but today is not this day. 
> 
> that being said, i appreciate all of you so much for your kind comments and support! it really makes my day to read them. I apologize for the delay! since i was working inside of such a large chapter, it was coming along pretty slowly. hopefully part 2 will be out far sooner. 
> 
> tw for this chapter - graphic depictions of violence, ptsd and nightmares

Klaus has a talent for forgetting crucial pieces of information. Sometimes it’s on purpose. No one would ever be disappointed in you if they didn't expect anything from you, after all. It had come in handy during his childhood as Reggie’s hope for him grew dimmer and dimmer, eventually extinguished entirely when Klaus left the Academy. Other times, he just focuses in on the wrong thing and everything else in the world seems to vanish. 

When Klaus had watched Dave stumble and fall into the grass, the report of a gunshot still ringing in his ears, the knowledge that they were fighting a war came rushing back like a punch to the chest. It had stunned him for a moment - Klaus blinked, his brain still replaying the last instant before Dave got shot as it tried to make sense of what had happened. Reality crashed back into him as a rough hand grabbed his collar, yanking him down to the ground. 

“You trying to get yourself killed?” Johnson had yelled, the burly hand on Klaus’ helmet pushing him down towards the marshy dirt. 

“Dave,” is all Klaus had said, still bewildered. He couldn’t think about that right now. Johnson had practically tossed Klaus bodily towards the jeep parked haphazardly in the middle of the field and it was either run or die. Klaus ran. Then Dave had appeared out of nowhere and Johnson died and didn’t know it, and three hours passed in that field while they tried to rally, surrounded by the growing hordes of the fallen. 

It’s a somber evening that night. Klaus has been twitching since the firefight, listening to hissed whispers from the dead, both friend an enemy. The dead get bolder in the dark and now that the sun is setting, the four men they had lost circle Klaus like vultures as he sits curled by the fireside. Klaus had made the mistake of looking at Johnson after he died and Johnson - after realizing he was dead - had shouted, cursed and spit, begging Klaus for help. It snowballs from there, like it always does. 

“Klaus,” one of the men gurgles, blood welling up in the crater on his face. A bullet had hit him in the cheek; Klaus could see muscle and shattered bone. His left eyeball is liquefied, dripping forever more down his face. Klaus flinches at the sound of his name and the ghost draws nearer. “Klaus,” he begs again. He thinks his name is Fitzgerald, but the name on his uniform is too tattered and soaked with blood to be able to tell. “There’s a letter to my wife in my pocket. Will you see she gets it?” 

“Go away,” he hisses to the spectre. He’s alone right now. Everyone except for Andrews was busy bothering the doctor for what treatment he could give without proper medical supplies. Andrews is lost in his own head, cradling the picture of his newborn daughter as a notebook sits empty on his lap. A few other soldiers around Klaus glance at him but don’t say anything. Klaus is known for being weird at this point. 

“Klaus,” the ghost moans again. 

Klaus rakes his hands through his hair and pushes himself to his feet. He needs to go find Rivers. Rivers was always willing to hook him up with something that would get his mind off things. Klaus mutters an explanation to Andrews who doesn’t even seem to hear him before moving off. 

Little fires dot the field in spots that are drier than the rest. The soldiers are spread out, paranoid of another attack even though it’s been hours. Flores had the jeeps spaced out against the trees. The badly injured soldiers are sitting in them, some of them nursing bullet wounds. It takes a second to spot Rivers among the rest of the injured, but when he does, Klaus grins. Rivers has his hat over his eyes, arms crossed as he leans against the side of a jeep. Both his bandaged legs are splayed out in front of him. 

Klaus gets as close as he can before crouching down. “Hey,” he says.

Rivers jumps, snatching the hat off his face to stare at Klaus with wide eyes. “Aw, hell,” he sighs, hitting Klaus with his cap. “What do you want?” Klaus raises his eyebrows, giving Rivers a knowing look. Rivers pushes a breath out his nose. “Really? Now?” 

“Are you surprised? This is in character for me.” 

Rolling his eyes, Rivers says, “In my bag in the jeep. You know the rules.” 

Klaus kisses his fingers and pats Rivers on the cheek. “You’re a saint among men,” he coos, standing. When Klaus as first showed up, about two months in, Rivers had caught him getting high behind the utility shed at camp. Instead of turning him in - not that anyone would likely care - Rivers had joined him. It became something of a ritual with the two of them. Every fight, every scrap, every gunshot later, Rivers and Klaus would find a secluded spot to smoke. With all the smoking rituals Klaus has picked up since coming, he thinks his lungs will probably give out by the time he’s thirty five. 

Rivers is pretty picky about his things. If Klaus displaces anything that Rivers will notice, he’ll get an earful of it later. He’s especially jumpy about his contraband - while no one particularly _cares_ , if anyone catches them, they’ll probably get a _stern talking to._ Both of them would rather avoid that, so Klaus can be discreet.

Weed doesn’t do as much for his powers as hard stuff does. It turns the ghosts hazy, like he’s watching them through a tank of water. Their voices go muddy and indistinct - still there, but easier to ignore. Between that and booze, Klaus can sometimes manage to get a good night’s sleep. He needs it now. Digging through Rivers’ stuff, Klaus finds the joint at the very bottom of his bag, hidden in a cigarette case. He tucks the whole thing in a pocket on his cargo pants and turns. 

Dave is leaning on the jeep watching him, scrubbing grease off his hands with a rag. 

“Christ on a cracker, Dave.” Klaus clutches his chest. “Warn a guy next time.” 

Dave smirks but nods his head towards the bag. “You know, last I checked your name wasn’t Rivers.” 

“I’m borrowing something,” Klaus says, a little cagey. He nods towards Dave’s arm. He’s since stripped out of his ripped fatigue jacket and his injured shoulder is on display, bandage stained with blood. “How’s the shoulder?” 

Dave glances at it. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Klaus says. _If you don’t count the ghosts of the dead yelling at me, I’m peachy._

“How’s Andrews?” 

“Contemplating his mortality.” Dave winces at the joke. Klaus gestures at Dave who’s still working grease off his hands. “What are you up to?” 

Dave jerks a thumb at the jeep they’re standing by. “Trying to fix this old thing. It got a bit beaten up during the fight.” 

Klaus’ eyebrows raised appreciatively. “I didn’t know you were so handy.” 

“I’m not.” Dave smiles, chagrined, and shrugs. “I mean, I helped my dad fix the truck a couple of times when I was a kid - if you call holding a flashlight at the engine while he yelled at me helping. But you know, I figured I’d give it a shot.” He looks down, pulling the rag through his hands. Almost shyly, he asks, “Want to help?” 

Klaus’ heart jitters. Casually, he says, “I don’t know how much help you think I’ll be.” 

Dave smiles. “You can hold the flashlight.” 

“Oh, are you going to yell at me, too?” Klaus says, delighted. He follows Dave around to the front of the jeep, grinning. The hood of the vehicle is popped, tools scattered in the grass. 

“I would never,” Dave says, pressing a hand to his chest. 

Klaus grins as Dave tosses him a flashlight. He chatters as Dave works, filling the silence between them. It’s comfortable, even if Dave doesn’t do much but smile or laugh in response. It’s a little strange that Dave is so quiet. If Klaus knows anything about Dave, it’s that he likes to socialize. Afterall, Dave was the first person to really greet Klaus after his less than ceremonial introduction to Vietnam. 

Sticking the end of the flashlight in between his teeth, Klaus fishes the joint and a lighter out of a pocket. Dave glances at him. He’s certainly never been shy about mentioning Klaus’ drug habit before. Instead, he turns back to his task, brow furrowed in total concentration. Klaus lets out an appreciative sigh as smoke fills his lungs. Instantly, the voices of Johnson and maybe-Fitzgerald fade into the background, along with the shouts of men speaking in a language he doesn’t understand.

Dave says nothing, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and leaving a streak of grease in its wake. Klaus frowns. Blowing out a mouthful of smoke, Klaus asks, “Why are you thinking so loud?” 

Dave glances up, frowning. “Huh?” 

“You’ve been quiet all day. Something’s up.” Klaus shrugs, looking away and sticking his joint back in his mouth. “You’re only quiet when you’re thinking too hard about something.” 

“Oh,” Dave says. 

"You gonna tell me, or keep that shit bottled up ‘til you die?” 

"Ah, I don't want to dredge up my shit," Dave sighs, tossing his oil rag on the hood of the jeep. 

Klaus raises his eyebrows, trying to channel as much of Reginald as he thinks he can. "Dave." 

Laughing softly, Dave lowers himself onto the grass and leans against the grill of the jeep. “Like you have any room to talk,” he says, but there’s no bite in his words. He glances away, pressing a knuckle into his lips. After a minute, he says, “You remember I told you about my brother fighting on the front?” When Klaus nods, he says, “We aren’t even at the front, and the first day of danger I get shot. If we ever get moved into the shit, I’m so fucked.” 

Klaus sinks into the grass at Dave’s side. Dave keeps talking; now that he’s started, he doesn’t seem to want to stop. “My brother has been fighting for - shit, I dunno. Almost two years?” Klaus makes an appreciative noise and Dave gestures with a wrench. “He’s a tough son of a bitch and I’m just… not. My whole life, I’ve never compared to him.” 

“Dave,” Klaus says, genuinely confused. “You’re one of the best soldiers in the entire battalion.” 

Dave eyes him. “You think that?” 

Klaus leans forward, knocking his knee into Dave’s. “I know it,” he says. “And believe me when I say I know something about not being able to live up to your brothers. If you want to see a real family disappointment, you’re looking at him.” Klaus puts his hand on Dave’s arm to forestall the protest he knows is coming. “You don’t have anything your brother doesn’t have.” 

“You’ve never met him,” Dave says. 

Klaus shrugs. “Don’t need to.” 

Dave stares at him for a long moment. Clearing his throat, he moves to begin putting his tools away. Klaus removes his hand almost as an afterthought, but the memory of Dave’s skin under his hand stays with him. “For the record, I don’t think you’re a disappointment,” Dave says. 

“Should tell that to my dad.” 

“Take me to meet him someday and I will.” 

Klaus barks out a laugh. He doesn’t really talk about his family much. He’s mentioned his litter of siblings and a shitty father, but other than that, he figures it’s nobody’s business. Not that anyone would believe him, anyhow. So far removed from his family and all the Umbrella Academy bullshit, Klaus hardly even thinks about it anymore. 

The first few weeks had been rough - Ben isn’t with him, because ghosts are linear or something and hasn’t even been _born_ yet. In Klaus’ own time, Reginald Hargreeves is dead. In 1968, he’s off doing whatever it was he did before adopting the seven of them. Probably kicking puppies, or something. Either way, he wouldn’t exactly cotton to some random soldier telling him off because he told his children they were disappointments - among other things. 

Still, the mental image is something that brings Klaus joy. Sucking in a lungful of smoke, Klaus says, “Dave, you don’t know what I would pay to see you do that.” 

\-- 

It takes another two days of walking until they reach their temporary campsite. Klaus didn’t think it was possible to make a shittier base than the one they came from, but this one is hardly anything more than a few tarps strung up between sticks. The soldiers in it are bloody and miserable, more than exhausted. The noise is worse out of all of it. 

Klaus has never been in the thick of it before. It’s been firefights and skirmishes so far, nothing like the environment they’re in now. Klaus can feel the vibrations in the ground from explosions in the distance. Helicopters are flying overhead almost hourly, their blades kicking up dust and making the whole jungle shake. The smell of napalm clings to the wind and within hours, Klaus has a headache. It’s a miracle anyone in this camp ever gets any sleep it all. 

Nothing much happens the first couple of days in - it’s pretty damn boring, in fact. Beyond digging trenches and running drills, there isn’t much to do. Their battalion hangs in limbo - close to the fighting and all keyed up, ready to go, but forced to settle down. Dave had grumbled to Klaus one evening that war was a lot of being told to “Hurry up and wait.” 

On the second day, they get the order to head further north to the actual fighting, where they’ll be stationed for probably a few weeks. As they near the noise of the fighting, Klaus worries the strap of his rifle, twisting it in his hands until Dave rests a hand on his shoulder. Then Klaus will nudge him in the ribs with his elbow and smile, the extent of the comfort he can offer, and the cycle repeats. They end up at opposite ends of the trenches by Flores’ orders. Klaus shoots Dave a worried look as they march away from each other and Dave gives him a thumbs up.

The trenches are god awful. Klaus learns that the first day. Within hours of fighting, he’s is bleeding from so many scrapes and bruises that he just feels like a human shaped bundle of burning nerves. By the first night, Klaus is over it. By the third, Klaus learns there’s no such thing as sleep when an hour can’t go by without the sound of gunfire. Bullets flying overhead are bad enough, but it’s impossible to get any rest when the ghosts of the men you killed are standing over you screaming. Klaus gets ahold of some speed early on and it keeps the exhaustion and ghosts at bay, but once that’s gone, he’s left more jittery and tired than before. 

The days begin to blend together into one nightmare. Smoke so thick that it blankets the sky blots out the sun; only the occasional breeze from a helicopter flying overhead displaces the black fog. Runners hurry through the trenches to deliver messages - radios are utterly _useless_ in the noise of battle. Klaus’ head reverberates with the echo of explosions. When the air falls still, Klaus can still hear the rattle of gunfire in his mind. 

On the fourth day, the morning comes still and quiet. Heavy fog chokes the valley. Across no man’s land, the VC are hidden in their foxholes and their trenches. Klaus is lying between two sandbags trying to look through a pair of binoculars, but his hands are shaking so bad he can’t hold them steady. From behind, Chaz pushes Klaus down into the dirt below the sandbags. Prying his rifle out of Klaus’ stiff fingers, he orders. “Get some fucking sleep. You’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

“Can’t,” Klaus says. Dave is at the other end of the trenches with the rest of the battalion and there hasn’t been news in at least twelve hours. Klaus’ equilibrium has been thrown off by his absence. Sure, he has Chaz and Rivers for company, but Dave is his best friend. “I can’t sleep, Chaz.” 

Chaz shakes his head. “You have to,” he says, gentler this time. “Would it help if I got something for you?” Klaus nods. Chaz disappears and Klaus spaces out for a while, eyes staring into the middle distance. Ghosts mill around the trenches, wandering here and there. Only a few of them linger near Klaus. People shift around him, trying to doze. Rivers is lying on his side using his pack as a pillow, knees pulled up to his chest. He’s awake too, and like Klaus, unmoving.

When Chaz comes back around, the sun has begun to break through the fog. Chaz is crouched in front of Klaus, pressing a couple pills into his hand. Klaus looks at him, eyebrows furrowing, but accepts the pills nonetheless 

“Don’t ask,” Chaz says lowly. “Just take ‘em and get some sleep.” 

“Wake me up if there’s news?” he asks. 

Chaz nods, then jerks his chin at the pills in Klaus hands. Klaus takes them without argument. Painkillers seeping through him, Klaus closes his eyes and falls into the his first dreamless sleep in days. 

\--

“Watch out,” a whisper says to Klaus’ left. 

He stirs, hand batting at the noise as his chin sinks back down onto his chest. “Go ‘way,” Klaus mumbles. 

“They’re coming for you,” the whisper says again. “Watch out.” 

Klaus’ eyes crack open. It’s darker than he remembers. Fog still drifts over the valley, so it must just be a few hours after he’d passed out. An outline is standing next to him, wavering as though it’s a reflection in a pool of water. Klaus squints at it. “Watch out for what?” he asks. The outline turns and points up over the trenches, into the thick grey smoke smothering the valley. Klaus looks up and watches. “I don’t see anything,” he complains after a minute. “What’s-” 

It looks like a bird at first. In the split second his exhausted brain takes to notice, Klaus thinks, _It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a fucking grenade!_

Oh. Right. 

“Grenade!” Klaus hollers, scrambling to his knees. The other soldiers in the trench startle, jerking awake. A hand grabs Klaus’ collar and hauls him to the side as the grenade lands in the trench. There’s a beat of stillness, a snap-freeze where the world goes completely silent before the grenade explodes. Klaus and the soldier that grabbed him are thrown forward into the dirt, skidding across the ground. Pain burns across Klaus’ shoulders. 

It takes him a moment to come to. Dirt scrapes the skin on his cheek, cascading down from his hair. The soldier who had pulled him down scrambles to his feet, shouting as the gunfire starts. Blood seeps into Klaus’ jacket, sticking to his skin. Stumbling to his feet, Klaus grabs the nearest pistol lying half buried in the soil. His own gun is missing, probably abandoned in the mud. Around him, soldiers are fighting. It takes Klaus a moment to notice some of them are fighting - with each other? 

Yes. Klaus darts towards the sandbags for cover, watching two soldiers grapple on the ground thirty feet away. One of them bears down on the other with a knife, sinking the blade into the soft flesh of the other man’s throat. The victor stands, only for a well placed pair of shots to take him in the chest. Two ghosts flicker into view over their bodies, bleeding. 

Klaus turns, staring at Chaz with wide eyes. He gestures with his pistol, wild and bloody. “They’re in the trenches,” he shouts over the noise of gunfire. “We have to run!” 

“Who?” Klaus rasps as Chaz picks him up and drags him along. 

“The VC, man!” 

Chaz is right. Those two men Klaus had watched fight hadn’t both been American soldiers - one had been Viet. All around him are men grappling with each other, bayonets and knives sunk deep into bodies. The mud on the ground is probably half composed of blood. Klaus’ heart is hammering. His grip on his pistol tightens as he and Chaz duck through the trenches, trying to make it away from the worst of the fighting. 

“Where are we going?” Klaus shouts, skidding through the mud as a shell whistles overhead. “What happened? Where’s Rivers?” 

Chaz shoots him a harried look over his shoulder. “I don’t fuckin’ know!” he shouts. Klaus doesn’t know which question he’s answering. There’s really not much to do but run. A couple other soldiers from their battalion join up with them as they sprint through the mud and Klaus takes comfort in the numbers. Chaz scoops up a rifle from the mud and slings it over his shoulder. Klaus is loathe to use his pistol at such close range, but he doesn’t think twice about firing when a VC starts running towards them, bayonet at the ready. The noise and chaos of the battle helps distract him from the ghosts that arise when he kills. 

And kill he does. Despite his earlier hesitation, Klaus is very interested in not dying. Surviving means killing someone else. It’s shitty. It’s doubly shitty that the only advice to cope with it is along the lines of, “Don’t think about it” and “Drink to forget.” But Klaus has good aim when his hands aren’t shaking, so he takes the drugs someone palms him and just keeps shooting. Their patchwork squad sets up a little reinforcement in one corner of the trenches trying to cover anyone else fleeing the VC who’ve invaded. 

Their tiny checkpoint becomes “official” for a little while. Beyond it is just VC and merciless bullets. It works, for a little while, until Klaus gets shot in the right shoulder and one of their guys takes a bayonet to the stomach. Apparently, news from further in the trench is that the VC have invaded down there as well. 

There’s no way to tell how much time has passed, but Dave appears at one point with a belt of ammo slung over his shoulder. More soldiers are in tow, followed by flashes of gunfire - as much reinforcement as can be spared. 

“Oh,” Klaus says, feeling more relieved than he has in weeks. “You’re not dead, Dave.” 

Dave shoots him a grin. His teeth are streaked with blood and the grime coating him looks like a second skin, but it is Dave, safe and sound. He claps Klaus on the shoulder that isn’t wrapped in a hasty bandage. “Neither are you,” he says. “More than can be said for a lot of these sorry bastards.” 

Gallows humor is they only kind they know, so Klaus laughs. He wants to pull Dave into a hug, but they’re bloody and exhausted, so he settles for squeezing Dave’s forearm. The fighting is still bad, but Klaus finds a certain sense of comfort in fighting at Dave’s side, even if they’re still losing. 

At some point, the order to retreat gets shouted up. Klaus doesn’t know who gives it - if it’s Flores or not, he doesn’t give a shit. Chaz doesn’t either if the way he grabs Klaus by the back of the collar to pull him backwards into the jungle is any indication. All of them scramble up the muddy bank - someone has to grab Klaus and haul him up because his injured shoulder won’t support his weight. 

They crash through the leaves and branches, bullets peppering the ground at their heels. Boots pound after them. Klaus sincerely hopes it’s more of their battalion and not the VC, but he’s probably wrong. Something wings Klaus in the leg and he stumbles, tripping over leaden feet and skidding down an incline. Someone shouts after him. 

Klaus lays dazed in the leaf litter, staring up through the jungle canopy. It takes him a second to draw breath back in. At the top of the ridge he’d stumbled down, Chaz appears and shouts, “Stay there!” 

“Not going anywhere,” Klaus wheezes, sitting up. His shoulder is burning in pain, fresh blood dripping down his arm. The gash that had opened up on his back from the grenade earlier - had it been days? It felt like days - is bleeding again, scab ripped off from where it had dried against his shirt. Nothing feels like it’s broken, but he’s also running on weeks of adrenaline and drugs, so there’s no way to tell for sure. 

Klaus scoots back against the incline, hoping to hide himself from any enemy soldiers that might be curious enough to see what had come crashing down the hill. They’d been right behind him. Klaus doesn’t know where they might have gone. 

There’s a rustle from around the bend behind him. Klaus sits up cautiously. “Chaz?” he calls. “Dave?”

It’s not Chaz or Dave. It’s not anyone Klaus knows. It’s a skinny little Viet soldier, staring right at him. A skinny soldier holding a real big gun. Klaus throws up his hands, eyes wide as the soldier points his gun at Klaus, shouting something in the northern Vietnamese dialect Klaus has picked up from the ghosts. He’s far from fluent, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s saying. 

The soldier sidles forward, nervous. Under mud and blood, his eyes are scared. It’s one thing to kill a man when all you see is a helmet and another to look him in the eyes as you shoot him. Klaus is kind of hoping the guy is too nervous to pull the trigger as Klaus struggles to his knees, then his feet. 

The soldier barks something that probably means ‘stay down’. He shifts back, boots stumbling in the loose leaf litter. Holding out his HELLO hand, Klaus says, “Don’t shoot! Relax.” Klaus doesn’t have any weapons of his own except the pistol he’d picked up in the trenches, and that’s all but useless now that he has a bum shoulder. His aim with the left hand is just atrocious. 

Grabbing the gun with deliberate, slow motions, Klaus lifts it by the butt and holds it up. The viet soldier motions sharply with his gun, so Klaus crouches down and tosses it away. “See?” he says for the benefit of himself and any ghosts who understand. “Not interested in hurting anyone. Definitely not interested in being hurt, myself.” 

Edging closer, the soldier motions Klaus down. Klaus shakes his head. The soldier takes a big step forward, sidling up and _oh._ He’s hardly more than a kid under all that warpaint and blood. Klaus feels his heart clench, a strange sense of kinship with this scared little soldier. If he didn’t want to hurt the kid before, he definitely doesn’t anymore. The kid’s close enough that Klaus can grab his gun if he’s fast enough and he can chase him off before Chaz and Dave show up. It’s not exactly doing the kid any favors since he’ll probably just die later, but it’s easier not to think about it this way. 

He’s close enough now that Klaus can reach out and grab the barrel of his gun and pull it out of the kid’s grip. Klaus lashes out when he sees the chance, reaching for the barrel of the gun, yanking it up and twisting it out of the kid’s grip. The kid shouts, jumping back as Klaus hurls the gun into the bushes - evidently, the wrong thing to do. Klaus jumps back, holding up both hands as the kid yanks a knife out of his belt. 

“Well, I wouldn’t have done that if I’d noticed the knife,” Klaus says. “Can we not do this? I’m tired and I really don’t want to have to hurt you.” 

The kid snarls something in Vietnamese that probably means something like, “Shut up, moron,” before darting forward. 

Klaus stumbles to the side, tripping over leaden feet. His shoulder jarrs, stars whiting out his vision as he tumbles and rolls back on to his knees. This is hardly fair Klaus thinks to himself. He’s tired, injured, unarmed, probably going through withdrawals based on how the rest of his day is going, and now he has to fight some kid with a knife? It’s not too different than training with Diego - luckily, this kid can’t what he throws with pinpoint accuracy. 

Doesn’t mean he’s not good, though. 

Klaus hisses in pain, clamping a hand over the slice across his ribs. He’d been just barely too slow to bat the knife away and the kid had tagged him. If he’d been an inch or two to the right, Klaus would have a knife three inches in his lungs now. Exhaustion is making his limbs heavy. If Dave and Chaz don’t show up soon, Klaus is fucked. 

Across from him, the kid adjusts his grip on the knife. He looks more confident now, which is obnoxious. “Kid-” Klaus begins to protest, but the kid is already swinging. He goes for Klaus’ ribs again and Klaus reaches out, grabbing his wrist and twisting. The kid shouts, dropping his knife. One foot lashes out, connecting with Klaus’ knee. Klaus stumbles backwards, releasing the kid and hitting the ground with his right shoulder. Pain blurs out his vision for a second; blood wells up in his wound, soaking through the makeshift bandage. 

“Dave,” Klaus croaks, trying to pull himself up. “Chaz. Chaz!” 

The Viet kid doesn’t have any weapons anymore, but he doesn’t need any when Klaus is already on his back and incapacitated with pain. Grabbing his ankle, the Viet kid drags Klaus back to the jungle floor and scrabbles at his vest. The kid snarls, heaving him up by the vest and slamming him back down. Klaus always figured he’d die lying down, but not like _this._

They’re both exhausted, running on pure adrenaline, and the other soldier seems to be just a tad more desperate than Klaus himself. His fingers close around Klaus’ throat, squeezing. This is not the same kind of choking that Klaus likes; it’s not even the same kind of choking Hazel and Cha-Cha used to torture him. In both instances, Klaus was supposed to come out alive. It’s not so, with this man. 

In seconds, Klaus’ vision is greying out around the edges and his fingers are beginning to grow numb. A buzzing in his skull grows louder as the noises of the jungle fade out into obscurity. Klaus scrabbles limply at the leaf litter for anything to grab and his fingers find purchase on something hard. The knife? Klaus hopes to god it’s the knife. 

Klaus grabs it, swinging his fist up and around. It _is_ the knife (lucky him) and the Viet soldier is so focused on squeezing the life out of Klaus that he doesn’t notice the blade coming towards him until it’s already buried six inches in his throat. As it turns out, Klaus doesn’t really notice what he’s doing until that happens, either. 

The kid freezes, eyes going wide. Klaus yanks the knife out and the torrent of blood that gushes over him feels worse than the almost two weeks of grime caked onto his skin. The man slumps on top of Klaus, still bleeding. A moment later, his ghost flickers into view, the gash in his throat still weeping blood. Klaus flinches, eyes squeezing shut. Vietnamese shouting fills his ears, accusatory and spiteful. 

A kid. He’d been a kid. Klaus just killed a kid. Someone shouts, indistinct, and Klaus hears footsteps pounding on the leaves. If it’s the kid’s friends, then Klaus is totally fucked because he doesn’t have the energy to stand, let alone kill anymore people. 

“Oh, God. Klaus!” 

The body slumped over Klaus is heaved off, tossed carelessly in the dust a few feet away. A hand touches Klaus’ cheek, dragging through too much sticky blood. Klaus’ eyes flutter open. Dave is kneeling over him, eyes wide and terrified. Chaz stands a few feet away, staring into the trees. “Are you okay?” Dave asks, eyes huge and worried. “The blood…” 

“Not mine,” Klaus rasps. His voice sounds wrecked. He gestures at the dead Viet and the ghost of the man screams in outrage. Klaus flinches. 

Dave helps him to his feet, pressing his canteen of water into Klaus’ hands. “Come on,” he says, helping Klaus through the trees. Klaus can’t drag his eyes away from the body of the kid, bleeding in the leaves. Dave touches his chin, refocusing him on the trail in front of them. “Come on,” he says again. “Let’s go.” 

It’s a tense few minutes of limping until they manage to get their bearings. Klaus is trembling, adrenaline beginning to wear off. Dave grips him a little too tight as they walk, but Klaus is grateful. The sensation of fingers digging into his skin grounds him. Chaz is staring at his compass, eyebrows furrowed. The camp is a little ways southeast at the bottom of the hill. With the battalion as spread out as it is, there isn’t much of a chance that they’ll rejoin anyone else. Chaz’s radio is alive with chatter - Flores giving everyone instructions to regroup at the camp and not get killed. 

“Easier said than done,” Klaus says dryly, his fingers flexing on the cut on his ribs. His hands are shaking from the adrenaline crash and he needs something to focus on other than the ghost lurking at the edges of his vision or the blood crusting his clothes to his skin. 

Dave snorts a laugh, adjusting his grip around Klaus’ waist. “We should rest here,” he tells Chaz. “Klaus can barely walk and we’re all exhausted.” 

“Yeah,” Chaz agrees. “No fire, though. And somebody has to keep watch.” 

Dave bites the bullet for that duty. They move off the road to make as much of a camp as they can. Chaz wanders off to report their position and status and then to make sure no one is waiting to ambush them in the bushes. It’s getting dark and an ambush is really the last thing they all need. 

Klaus lowers himself onto the root of a tree and stiffly shucks off his vest. It’s a challenge to pull his bloody shirt up and over his head without aggravating the bullet wound in his shoulder or the cut in his ribs, but he eventually manages it. Tossing the shirt to the side, Klaus settles back against the trunk of a tree. 

Dave is staring at him, playing with the canteen on his hip. He tosses it to Klaus, who barely manages to catch it. The metal seems freezing against his skin. “You should wash the blood off,” Dave says, looking away. 

“I think hygiene is the least of my worries,” Klaus says, but he uncaps the canteen anyway and douses his shoulders in lukewarm water. Blood and dirt run in rivulets off his skin, soaking into the waistband of his fatigues.

“It might be when you get gangrene and they have to send you back stateside.” 

Klaus winces. It’s a good point; he doesn’t want to find out what happens if they send him to a military hospital only to find out there’s no Klaus Hargreeves enlisted in the US military. Unless he’s some Captain America type war hero, it probably won’t go over great. “Fair,” Klaus says. He tosses back Dave’s canteen. 

Chaz returns. “The battalion is camped further down the mountain,” he says, tossing his gun and bag on the ground that made the middle of their tiny camp. “We’ll have to meet up with them in the morning.” 

“Who made it?” Dave asks, sitting. 

Shrugging, Chaz says, “Almost everyone, I think. I know Rivers made it out of the trenches; I saw him running before we went to get Hargreeves. Dunno about Andrews.” 

“He was fine, last I saw.” 

Chaz sinks to the ground and grabs his bag. His tone is callous, but Klaus doesn’t miss the way his face relaxes in relief. “I’m going to get some sleep,” he says, rolling over. “Wake me up later, I guess.” 

The sound of Chaz’s snoring fills the little clearing in only a few moments. Dave turns to Klaus. “You should get some sleep, too.” 

Klaus stares at the spectre of the man he’d killed, lurking around the edges of Klaus’ vision. He doesn’t seem to know Klaus can see him yet, but Klaus isn’t eager for _that_ revelation. “I don’t think I’m gonna get much sleep tonight,” he says honestly. “Seriously, if you want to pop a squat and catch some Z’s, I can keep watch.” 

Dave chuckles a little. “You’re injured. At least try?” 

Klaus shakes his head and pats the ground next to where he’s sitting. “I’m not going to sleep anyway,” he reasons when Dave fixes him with a stare. “You don’t have to sit up with me.” 

Dave just shakes his head, smiling. Klaus grins when he strides over and sits, leaning his head back against the bole of the tree. It’s so dark they can barely see each other. As soon as he sits, it’s like all the officer-attitude bleeds out of him. He sinks into the ground like it’s the most comfortable thing in the world. Klaus can see the exhaustion radiating off him in waves. Reaching out, Klaus pats his knee. 

“Tell me something,” Dave says. 

“Like what?” 

Dave hitches a shoulder. Past the canopy above them, the moon has begun to rise. Cicadas buzz in the jungle, background noise to their conversation. “Dunno,” he says. “Something I can fall asleep to.” 

“Yeah, not really good at telling bedtime stories,” Klaus says. “Unless you want to hear about one of many times I’ve been arrested and-or kicked out of restaurants. Some of those overlap.” 

Dave laughs softly, eyes drifting shut. “Tell me about your family,” he prompts. 

“I dunno why you’d want to hear about them,” Klaus says. “I’m the fun one.” 

Dave cracks an eye open. “You mentioned something about six siblings the last time we played poker,” Dave says. “Tell me about them.” 

He had, hadn’t he? That night seemed like a lifetime ago. “Oh, alright. Where to begin,” Klaus says. “Dear old Dad, of course. Big brother Luther, daddy’s favorite. Diego. Allison. Everyone’s favorite, me.” Dave snorts a laugh. “Little number Five-” 

“Hey, hold on,” Dave says. He glances up, looking entirely exhausted and somehow still interested in what Klaus has to say. “Your parents named their fifth child _Five?”_

Klaus shrugs. “My name was Number Four until I was like, ten.” 

Dave stares at him, eyes wide. The thumbprint bruises beneath his eyes just make them look bluer, more concerned. “What kind of family did you _have?”_

“The most dysfunctional family in history.” Klaus pats his shoulder. “Come on, close your eyes. I’ll tell you about the fucked up shit that happened to me as a kid. It’ll explain a _lot.”_

Dave laughs weakly, but lowers his head anyway. Klaus talks He talks about his siblings, even when Dave’s head begins to nod. He talks about their misadventures, editing some of it to censor future knowledge and powers. His voice hitches, just a little, when Dave’s head falls to the side to rest on Klaus’ shoulder. Klaus stops, taking a moment to just stare. Dave hums. Clearing his throat, Klaus says, “Where was I?” 

“Hiding your brother’s knives,” Dave murmurs, on the verge of sleep. 

“Right,” Klaus says, mouth feeling dry. “So Diego was out for blood, but that’s nothing new.” Klaus trails off. Dave’s asleep, breathing softly. Klaus takes a minute just to stare. 

It’s stupid for Klaus to develop feelings for anyone while they were in the middle of a warzone. Dave can die any day - _Klaus_ can die any day, and Dave doesn’t have the option to see him even in spirit. It just isn’t _fair._ The first time Klaus finds someone he thinks can make him an honest man and it’s in Vietnam in 19 fucking 68. 

Every time Dave hands him an extra magazine for his rifle, or grabs him by the back of the shirt to make sure his head isn’t above the sandbags, or even just looks at him with those soft blue eyes, Klaus feels like a kid with a first crush. But… god, watching Dave sleep on his shoulder, secure for the first time in who knows how long makes Klaus thrill with _something._

* * *

Someone must be watching out for them, because the three of them make it back down the mountain with little trouble. It’s slow going with Klaus’ injuries, but once they clear the trees, the rest of the battalion is waiting for them. And just like that. it’s over. Like it had never happened and they were just supposed to move on. It’s hard to do that when every tremble in the ground has you jerking awake and grasping for your gun. It isn’t normal that the sound of gunfire doesn’t keep them up, but the rustling in the trees does. The atmosphere back at the camp is tense to say the least. 

They’d been chased out of their trenches, a lot of them killed. More soldiers were coming for backup - apparently, this would be their permanent posting. Klaus doesn’t want to think about what they did to deserve that. A rumor spreads it’s way around camp that they’ll get leave once they head back down the valley. Dave sorely hopes that’s true. 

Klaus’ mood had continued to deteriorate since they had returned to camp. He was irritated and skittish. Dave knows he isn’t sleeping. Dave is willing to bet it has something to do with his lack or drugs. If the way his hands shake isn't enough to go on, the way he stares off into the distance certainly is. A few times, Dave catches him muttering to himself, a habit he tries not to give in to while in the company of other people. 

"If I wake up to your ghostly wheezing one more time, I'm going to go out into the jungle and slit my own throat, I swear to god," he hisses to the darkness one night as Dave is drifting off to sleep. 

The words yank Dave back off the edge of sleep and his eyes snap open. Klaus is curled up across from him, staying off his injured shoulder. His free hand is clamped over his ear like a shield. They're surrounded by others and Klaus wouldn't like it anyway, but Dave wants to sit up and pull him into a hug. 

It’s a rough few days. Klaus’ shitty mood means his and Dave’s nightly smoking ritual is dissolved for the time being. Klaus sneaks off on his own to get high and every time he does, Dave thinks of that night in the rain, months ago. 

The light at the end of the tunnel comes with the orders to move back south down the valley, back to their real basecamp. It feels so fucking callous and Dave almost can’t bite his tongue when Flores is giving his stupid speech about their bravery and service. It isn’t a fucking choice. They’re killers, all of them, and they’re even more haunted than they were before. 

Leave comes like some kind of reward. Six days and seven nights in Saigon with no responsibilities other than getting drunk. Klaus perks up for what seems like the first time in days, and Dave is grateful for the return of his good mood. It’s not the first time they’ve gotten leave during their deployment, but it’s the first time it’s longer than a few days and the first time Klaus had chosen to accompany them. Dave had asked and Klaus had sighed good-naturedly and said, “Only for you, Davey.” 

Klaus is in a somber mood as they pack and wait for the bus. It’s uncharacteristic enough that Dave keeps shooting him worried looks until Klaus manages to plaster on a grin that doesn’t quite manage to reach his eyes. Rivers, Chaz and Andrews, who had all tagged along, don’t seem to notice. The three of them stand around at the bus stop, grinning and ribbing each other. Klaus is slouched by the stop sign, cigarette clamped loosely between two fingers in an attempt to appear casual. 

Dave nudges him. “Hey,” he says when Klaus looks over. “You alright, man?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’ve been quiet since we got back to base,” Dave says. Klaus actually flinches. It’s small and controlled, but Dave feels his heart drop. “Just hope you’re okay.” 

“Yeah,” Klaus says. “Totally fine.” 

Dave doesn’t believe him for one second. He’s is still worried about Klaus as they stand waiting around for the next shuttle to take them down out of the valley entirely, into Saigon. Chaz, Andrews and Rivers all talk excitedly about their plans for the next six days. Even Dave chimes in a few times, but not Klaus. Klaus just stares out the window, watching the jungle pass by. 

“Hey.” Dave nudges him in the side when the bus trundles into Saigon proper and the noise of the city outside will mask their voices. It’s late, close to midnight, but cities are never truly silent. “Got any plans you want to add?” 

“I’m just thinking about how fucked up I’m going to get,” Klaus says easily. Dave frowns. 

The bus drops stops just outside the heart of the city and all the soldiers - five of them included - stumble off. Klaus sucks in a deep breath of humid city air and sighs, a faint grin on his lips. Chaz leads them through the winding streets towards a hotel he promises is “Cheap, but good,” and Dave doesn’t even _want_ to know how Chaz knows that. It’s a challenge to keep Klaus on track. Being away from the oppressive atmosphere of the base seems to have put him somewhat at ease. He wants to dart down every side street and stop at every vendor, but eventually the exhaustion catches up with him, too. 

They stroll into the hotel at quarter to midnight. Rivers is leaning on Andrews’ shoulder, half asleep already. Klaus is hiding yawns in the crook of his elbow. The clerk at the desk looks at them distastefully, but she still takes their money and gives them three keys. Chaz was right about one thing, at least - the rooms were cheap. 

Klaus and Dave bunk together in one of the rooms by virtue of already bunking together, anyway. Chaz and Andrews play rock paper scissors over who gets to have the third room to themselves, since Rivers is basically asleep and doesn’t get to vote. Chaz pouts when he loses, but since it’s getting close to midnight, nobody is willing to put up an argument - including Chaz. 

It feels strange to go to sleep in a _real_ bed in a room with _real_ doors. Sure, the hotel isn’t exactly a five-star gig, but it’s a lot better than Dave was expecting. Though, to be fair, he was used to open tents filled with thirty other men constantly tracking mud and dirt over everything. As long as Dave doesn’t find any cockroaches in the bathroom sink, he’s fine. 

“Oh my god,” Klaus groans, collapsing onto one of the beds. He curls up in the sheets, pulling one of the pillows towards him. “It’s been so long since I slept in something that wasn’t a shitty cot.” 

Dave tosses his duffle bag on the other bed and unzips it, rummaging around for clean clothes he hasn’t worn since the last time he was on leave. “I know what you mean,” he says, grabbing his tank top and pulling it off over his head. He discards of it in a corner, too damn tired to care. “The last time I was on leave, I think I slept half the time. Killed my back to go back to sleeping in those shitty cots, but you know how it is.” 

Shaking out one of his button ups, Dave turns to where Klaus is curled up in a nest of blankets. Klaus is staring at him, pink dusting his cheeks. They just look at each other for a split second, eyes locked. Klaus caves first. 

Shimmying out from his nest, Klaus says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to use this opportunity to take a real shower. Is it sad that that’s what excites me nowadays?” 

Dave doesn’t get the chance for a rebuttal. Klaus vanishes into the bathroom and a second later, the shower spray starts up. Sighing, Dave hangs his shirt on the back of one of the chairs before falling back onto the bed. His back begins to ache immediately. What a fucking rip off that he’s so used to sleeping on the ground, actual beds now feel _too comfortable._ He lies there for a long while, spread eagle on the mattress. Above him, the ceiling fan whirs. The _whump-whump-whump_ of the loose fan blades reminds Dave of a helicopter. It’s a humid night, too hot and too sticky. Dave doesn’t think he’ll be getting much sleep. 

The bathroom door opens and Klaus appears, towel wrapped around his waist and one around his shoulders. The pink bullet scar on his shoulder still looks red an angry, as does the diagonal stripe across his ribs. Klaus makes a noise in his throat at the sight of Dave lying on the bed. Dave lifts his head, watching as Klaus rummages around in his duffle bag for clothes that are 1 - clean, and 2 - not military issue. 

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Dave offers. “I have plenty.” 

“I don't think that’s wise,” he hears Klaus mutter to himself, but a second later he’s going through Dave’s luggage anyway. 

“Hey,” Dave says. Klaus pauses, looking at Dave from underneath his damp curls. “Why were you in a bloody towel the night we met?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Klaus says, pulling out a white t-shirt and cargo shorts from Dave’s bag. 

“Try me.” 

“How does time travel sound to you?” 

“Well, I’ve heard of it,” Dave says. 

Klaus pulls the t-shirt over his head. Water droplets from his hair turn the shoulders translucent. “Torturous assassins?” 

“Torture is what they do, right?” 

Klaus rolls his eyes, but continues. “How about the apocalypse?” 

“Hope I don’t live to see it,” Dave says. He crosses his arms behind his head. “Is that your answer?” 

“Most of it,” Klaus mutters. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dave says. “I was just reminded of it.” 

Klaus glances down to his towel clad lower half. “I’ll tell you,” he says. “It’s up to you if you want to believe it.” 

Unfortunately, Klaus never elaborates and Dave never asks. Klaus finishes changing and climbs into bed, letting out a tiny moan at the ache Dave knows he feels tugging at his spine. He doesn’t fall asleep, though. The minutes tick by closer to one o’clock. Klaus seems unwilling to turn out the lights and Dave is too tired to remain awake. He's used to sleeping in uncomfortable places. Rolling over, Dave jams a pillow over his head and tries to drift off into an uneasy slumber. 

He dreams of a hot jungle, sun high overhead. He and Klaus are marching, side by side, and the rest of their company is nowhere to be found. Dave turns to Klaus to ask him why they’re alone, but the words never make it out of his mouth. Klaus’ neck is slashed in half, so severe that it’s a miracle his head is hanging on at all. Blood oozes from the cut and Dave wants to flinch or look away, but he _can’t._

Klaus reaches out to touch his arm, fingers cool and shaking on his skin. Dave jumps awake, reaching for a gun he knows isn’t there. The remnants of his dream fade away, jungle trees replaced by yellow walls and bloody men by furniture. It’s dark in the room and that panics Dave for a moment, because the light was _on_ when he fell asleep. 

“Dave,” a voice rasps. 

Dave turns. In the dim light coming in through the curtained window, he sees the silhouetted shape of Klaus leaning over him, a finger pressed against his lips. He’s bare chested, skin glistening from the humidity in their room. His hair is wild, sticking up in every direction and his eyes look haunted. 

“Had a nightmare,” Klaus whispers. He’s not even looking at Dave - his eyes are fixed to a corner of the room. 

“Oh,” Dave says. “You want to smoke?” Klaus shakes his head. “What, then?” 

“Can I-” he cuts himself off. His hand slips off Dave’s arm, fisting in the sheets. Dave looks at him, then wordlessly shifts to the opposite end of the bed. A moment later, Klaus climbs in on top of the sheets. It isn’t intimacy. They’re back to back, not even a sliver of skin touching, but Dave’s heart is hammering in his chest. He can hear Klaus breathing shallowly. 

“You can talk to me, Klaus,” Dave whispers to the wall. 

Klaus lets out a breath that sounds shaky. In forced humor, he says, “Yeah, what do you think we’re doing right now?” 

“Klaus,” Dave says. It feels wrong not to have this conversation face to face, but Klaus is skittish and Dave knows he needs this. “I’m not just along for the ride, you know. You can tell me things.” 

Klaus doesn’t say anything back. It’s hard not to be disappointed, but Dave wont pressure him into sharing. Sometimes it frustrates him that Klaus is so emotionally distant, hiding his feelings behind a mask of humor and a lackadaisical attitude. Dave isn’t any better, if he’s honest with himself. 

“It’s the kid,” Klaus says, voice catching in his throat. Dave lifts his head, looking over his shoulder at Klaus, who’s curled into himself, arms wrapped around his ribs. His thin shoulders tremble with barely contained emotion. “The kid I killed, while we were running away.” 

“Oh,” Dave says softly. 

“He won’t go away,” Klaus continues. His voice trembles, dissolving into a rasp, sounding dangerously close to tears. “I keep seeing him. It’s too much, Dave. It’s too much.” 

Dave reaches out, placing his hand on Klaus’ shoulder. Klaus flinches at his touch, head jolting up to stare at him. In the dark, his eyes glisten with unshed tears. Dave knows that guilt. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know how to make you feel better, but I’ll always be here to listen.” 

Klaus stares at him. One hand slips up and curls with Dave’s fingers - not a true hand hold and more like the press of fingers, but it makes Dave’s heart jump nonetheless. “I know,” Klaus says. “I - thanks.” 

“Of course.” Dave gives his fingers a little squeeze, a reassuring smile on his face. Pulling his hands away, Dave resettles on his side of the bed, staring at the ceiling. After a brief pause, Klaus does as well. Their hands hover near each other on the bed sheets, not quite touching. 

“How do you deal with it?” Klaus asks. “The ghosts, I mean.” 

Dave hums. “I guess I just think about the people I care about,” he says. “I’d rather be fucked in the head than my little sister or my mom.” 

Klaus makes a noise in his throat. His hand shifts next to Dave’s. “I didn’t know you had a sister,” he says. 

Dave smiles towards the darkness. “Yeah. Ruth. She’s probably the only person who still looks up to me.” 

Klaus’ hand curls around Dave’s for real this time, threading their fingers together. “That isn’t true,” he murmurs, barely heard over the beating of Dave’s heart. “I do.” 

Dave doesn’t manage any words, but he squeezes Klaus’ hand. When Klaus falls asleep this time, Dave makes sure he doesn’t shout himself back awake and when Dave finally gives in to sleep, his nightmares don’t come back. 

Between them, their hands never unwind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple things of note i wanted to address but didn't want to make my first note too long: 
> 
> 1- im a college student! finals are coming up and i can't devote as much of my time to writing as i would like. you may have notice this chapter took a little longer to get out and that is only partly due to the fact that i was working inside a huge chapter and trying to get it all to fit together. now it's far more manageable and stressing me out less. 
> 
> i wont stop posting, but fair warning to those who are curious. i just want to take a little pressure off myself to post once weekly, because i cant fit that into my schedule right now. 
> 
> 2- my tumblr is at Fanthings if you're interested. 
> 
> 3- i hope you're excited for part 2 bc I SURE AM


	6. Month Five - Part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to bob_fish for being a great beta! it would have taken a lot longer to get this out if not for her. 
> 
> we're halfway there! this chapter was really fun to write and it's so gratifying seeing it come together. hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> last note -- go listen to the song The Drugs by Mother Mother. I promise you it's the best Klaus/Dave song you'll hear.

Dave groans, rolling over as sun strikes across his face. He burrows deeper into the scratchy down pillow to quiet the noise of the city outside. It can’t be much earlier than six o’clock in the morning, but already Dave can hear the murmur of voices and the honk of cars on the street outside. Dave is used to functioning on less than optimal sleep, but this just feels downright unfair. 

Eyes cracking open, Dave stares at the empty space in the mattress right beside him. The depression of a body is still there. Dave stretches out a hand, pressing it into the cooled sheets. Opposite Dave, the bed Klaus had slept in briefly the night before is empty, too. The memory of Klaus climbing into bed comes trickling back. A blush rises to Dave’s face, but it isn’t from embarrassment. Sitting up, Dave slides out of bed. 

“Klaus?” he calls, standing. There’s no answer - Dave wouldn’t find this unusual were it not for their circumstances the night before. He grimaces. Was _Klaus_ the one who was embarrassed about what had happened? Dave knows Klaus doesn’t really like talking about his feelings - or anything overly personal, for that matter, not that Dave can blame him - but Dave’s never known Klaus to be embarrassed over anything, let alone something as innocent as holding hands. Dave can admit that it hadn’t been exactly platonic. Was _that_ the problem? Had Dave been reading him wrong the whole time? 

Padding around the hotel room, Dave pokes and prods for Klaus’ belongings, looking for a note or any kind of explanation as to where he went. His duffle bag is missing, but his black briefcase is still sitting at the foot of the bed, so Dave knows he hasn’t deserted at least. Even his green flak jacket is still hanging over the back of a chair. He doesn’t find a note.

“Dummy,” Dave says to himself. “He probably just went out for a smoke.” 

It’s cool outside when Dave opens the door to their hotel room. It’s humid enough to be comfortable without being suffocating and the sun hasn’t yet warmed up. A faint haze of orange smoke settles over the city from what Dave can see from the entrance to his hotel room. Klaus isn’t out here. A little bead of unease forms in Dave’s chest. He pads barefoot to the next door down and knocks twice. 

A voice curses from the inside. There’s a dull thud. A moment after, the door is yanked open and Chaz’s irritated face stares out at him. Just beyond him, Dave can see Rivers passed out and snoring amidst the pillows. At least one of them was resting. “Do you know what time it is?” Chaz snaps. Dave opens his mouth to reply and Chaz adds, “It’s time that I should be spending asleep.” 

“It’s no earlier than we usually get up on a good day,” Dave says mildly. “You talk this way to Flores in the mornings?” 

Chaz glowers. “What do you want?” 

“Have you seen Klaus?” Dave asks. 

“No.” Chaz straightens a little, some ire bleeding out of him. “He isn’t with you?” 

“He wasn’t in the room when I woke up,” Dave says. He doesn’t want to mention the fact that Klaus took all his things. No need to jump to conclusions, especially when he hadn’t taken his briefcase. “Thought he might be here.” 

“He’s not,” Chaz says. “But he’s probably fine.” 

“You’re not concerned?” Dave asks. “What if he’s in trouble?” Chaz levels him with a stare that speaks volumes of what he thinks of Klaus’ character. He’s almost certainly in trouble - it’s _Klaus._ “Alright,” Dave says. “But _trouble_ trouble.” 

“He knows where to find us,” Chaz says. When Dave goes to protest, Chaz says, “The kid’s capable. He probably just got up early to blow off steam. You know how it is.” 

“Yeah,” Dave says. “I guess.” 

“Check with Andrews if you want. I’m going back to bed.” 

“It’s six am!” Dave says, jumping back to avoid getting hit with the door as Chaz swings it shut. He glares at it for a good few seconds. Andrews gives him much the same story when Dave asks. 

“He’s smart enough to get himself out of trouble,” Andrews tells him. “Don’t worry too much.” 

“Hard not to,” Dave mutters, scuffing the ground with a bare foot. “He’s my best friend. I’ve gotta look out for him.” 

Andrews levels him with a sympathetic look that Dave doesn’t really know how to interpret. “I bet he’ll be back soon,” is all Andrews says before bidding Dave good morning and closing the door. Dave tries not to feel snubbed as he heads back to his own room. 

Truthfully, he’s a little mad that his friends - that _Klaus’_ friends - have such low opinions of him. Klaus is a good guy. He’s smart; certainly smart enough that he shouldn’t be relegated to just an eccentric junkie. Unfortunately, Chaz is probably right. Klaus probably is off taking advantage of the seedier side of Saigon. Bit of an early start, but Dave is well versed in Klaus’ ways. He just hopes Klaus won’t run into a problem he can’t talk his way out of. 

It’ll be a good few hours before anyone really wants to go out and do anything and there’s no way Dave can settle back down and go to sleep while Klaus is unaccounted for, so Dave sets about making their room look less like a whirlwind had swept through it. All of the sheets on Klaus’ bed are pooled on the floor like he’d kicked them off in a fit during his nightmare. Clothes are scattered carelessly around the floor. They’d both been too tired to really bother with cleanliness when they got in last night. Dave wanders around, picking up their mess, months of enforced military neatness forcing him to neatly fold and tuck everything away. The temptation to pop the tabs on Klaus’ mysterious briefcase is almost overwhelming when Dave picks it up, but he won’t invade Klaus’ privacy like that, so he just slides it under the bed instead. 

The briefcase is one mystery about Klaus Dave has as of yet been unable to solve. People have asked about it before and Klaus’ answers have ranged from “I was an accountant and it’s full of my very important documents,” to “It’s a time machine.” He’s particular about it in a way that bridges on neurotic, almost enough to convince Dave that there _is_ something of value inside. He’s willing to bet it’s not a family heirloom based on Klaus’ less than stellar attitude towards the majority of his family. 

Dave almost expects Klaus to pop in the door and ask him why he’s messing with Klaus’ things, but when the door doesn’t somehow magically produce him, Dave sighs and heads for the bathroom. He needs a shower and he might as well do something productive while he mopes. The water is barely lukewarm, but it feels divine to take a bath that lasts longer than five minutes. It’s nice to just be able to put his brain on pause and not think too hard about Klaus or the war or his family or anything at all, really. 

His relationship with Klaus is frustrating, to say the least. Dave feels like there’s a constant song and dance, an endless series of hoops they have to jump through. One minute, they’re leaning together talking about nothing and everything and the next minute they’re jumping apart. Klaus will wrap a bandage around Dave’s scrapes and bruises and his lips will thin like he’s thinking about kissing them, and then he won’t touch Dave for two days. One minute, Klaus is climbing into Dave’s bed, gripping his hand like a lifeline, and then he up and disappears. If they weren’t fighting a war, Dave would say Klaus is afraid of confrontation. 

Unfortunately, Dave isn’t much better. Years of flings and casual relationships had taught Dave not to hope for more, and when they were here in the military, fighting a war… well, the timing isn’t exactly convenient. Dave wants nothing more than to pull Klaus close and show him how much he likes him, but black eyes and broken noses had also been Dave’s teachers; not everyone is willing or _open_ to a relationship with him. 

Dave sighs, reaching out and turning the shower head off. The water had grown cold. Shivering, he towels himself off. Underneath the dirt and grime that had been practically ingrained into Dave’s skin is a litter of healing scars and bruises. He presses his fingers into the ropy pink scar on his shoulder where he’d been shot a little over a month ago. It still burns a dull ache into his bones. It isn’t the only one. 

“Fuck,” Dave breathes, leaning his elbows on the bathroom sink and burying his face in his hands. He’s so tired. He just wants to fucking sleep and _this_ is exactly why he hates getting liberty; there’s too much shit he compartmentalizes while he’s out there in the field being a sergeant, being a soldier. Being away from all that is like tipping over the bookshelf and dumping all the bad shit in Dave’s brain onto the floor to force him to deal with it. Leave is just a few bitter days off where he could sit around with nothing to do, dreading the day when he had to be back on a bus heading up to base. All in all, it sucks and Dave hates it. 

Dave straightens, sucking in a breath. He slaps himself a few times, fingers catching on the stubble he’s let himself grow out for the past couple days - _and, fuck, that’s just one more thing he has to take care of, it never ends_ \- and says to himself in the mirror, “Focus! David Katz, you are a soldier, not a teenager, so quit acting like one.” 

There’s one easy way to pull himself out of his funk, and that’s to start boxing up all his feelings and storing them away again, behaving like he does when he’s on base. So he does - Dave brushes his teeth, shaves himself back into regs, and does pull-ups on the bathroom door frame until his arms begin to feel weak and watery. And there’s _still_ nothing to do. Dave is torn between just getting dressed and leaving on his own and waiting in the hotel room until Klaus comes wandering back. 

He’s half considering writing a note and going out when there’s a knock at the door. “Hey,” Chaz says when Dave opens the door. Andrews and Rivers are behind him, both fresh faced and looking more rested than Dave feels. “Get dressed, we’re going out.” 

“Out where?” Dave asks. 

“Just out. You rather sit in there all day?” 

“No,” Dave says honestly. He is beginning to get stir crazy, and it’s only been a couple hours since he woke up. It’s probably the nerves. “Give me five minutes.” 

He dresses hurriedly, throwing on a blue button up over his undershirt before deciding that’s probably fine. The only shoes he has are his jungle boots, so Dave reluctantly jams his feet into them and stands. He’s about to head for the door when he pauses. His notebook is lying open on the single table. Doubling back, Dave scribbles a quick note to Klaus. 

_~~Dear~~ Klaus - the boys and I have gone out. We’ll probably be back soon. Try not to get into too much trouble without us._

Dave tears the note out and leaves it on the table for Klaus to find and leaves. 

“You take ages to get ready, you know?” Rivers says when Dave opens the door. 

“I was up before any of you,” Dave says, locking the door behind him. He throws an arm around Rivers’ shoulders as the four of them set off towards the street. Rivers squirms under his grip until Dave grins and lets him go. 

Saigon is a bustling city. It’s nice - far nicer than Dave had expected when he first got in country - but he’s never cared for cities. He grew up on a farmhouse in Missouri where he knew everyone in town. Cities just make Dave feel like someone is going to mug him as soon as look at him. 

It’s not any later than nine in the morning, but already people crowd the streets. Vendors are lined up at random intervals, trying to attract business with shouting that can’t be understood over the general noise of the population. Soldiers on leave dot the streets in little clusters, some who Dave recognizes. They nod at each other when Dave squeezes by, following Chaz who doesn’t really seem to know where he’s going but who has more of a plan than any of them do. 

The crowds are worse in the part of the city they’re staying at, but as they begin to wander towards the European part of town, the streets widen and people thin out. Things are a little more familiar, here. Dave keeps a weather eye out for Klaus, convinced he’ll spot him slipping down some alleyway or another or leaving a bar, high and half drunk. He doesn’t, and Dave loses his chance when Rivers declares that he’s hungry and drags all of them over to a cafe. None of them are really fans of Vietnamese food, but anything is better than an MRE.

Dave spaces out while they eat, picking at his food while the rest of them talk. He watches people walking on the streets outside until Andrews nudges him in the ribs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You alright?” Andrews asks. Chaz and Rivers are looking at him. 

“Yeah,” Dave says. “Why?” 

“Rivers just asked you a question twice.” 

“Oh,” Dave says, reddening. “Sorry. What was it?” 

“I asked how you slept,” Rivers says. “I heard shouting coming from your room. Wondered what was up.” 

Dave thinks of his nightmare and of Klaus pressing himself into bed with Dave, twining their shaking fingers together between them in the dark. “I slept like a baby,” Dave says, fidgeting. “It must have been Klaus.” 

“Well, no wonder he snuck out,” Chaz says, stabbing at his food with his chopsticks. “Those nightmares always make him sneak off to get high.” 

Dave shifts uncomfortably. “You know how it is,” he says quietly and the mood at the table dampens. 

“Well,” Chaz drawls, standing up. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not just gonna sit here all day. I’m gonna go do something.” With that he strides away. A moment passes before Andrews shrugs and follows him. 

Jerking his chin at Dave’s untouched breakfast, Rivers says, “You gonna eat that?” Dave shakes his head and shoves it across the table towards Rivers. “What’s got you in such a mood, anyway?” he asks. 

“I’m not in a _mood_ ,” Dave says. 

“He said moodily.” 

Dave shoots him a look that has Rivers snickering. “It’s Klaus,” Dave admits. “I just don’t like that he left without telling anyone.” 

“What did you expect?” Rivers asks, leaning back. “It’s Klaus. He’s flighty.” 

“Not to me,” Dave says. “And you shouldn’t be so dismissive of him.”

Truthfully, Dave’s been anxious about Klaus for a long time. It’s guilt and trepidation gnawing at his nerves, convincing him he’d fucked up _somehow_ and that Klaus’ leaving is all his fault. Dave knows that isn’t true, but every time he thinks about Klaus slipping out of bed so carefully, making sure not to wake Dave up, he sinks a little further down into a well of anxiety. 

“Not dismissive, just honest.” Rivers stands, fishing out a handful of Vietnamese money from a pocket and tossing it on the table. Holding up one of them, he says, “Bet you ten bucks he shows up out of nowhere with a pocketful of drugs and no explanation.” 

Dave huffs, irritated. “I’m not making bets about him,” he says. 

Rivers folds the bill in half and tucks it in Dave’s breast pocket anyway. “Wanna get out of here? We’re wasting daylight.” 

Dave sighs and after a moment follows Rivers out onto the street. He and Rivers wander up and down the streets shooting the shit and window shopping. Neither of them really have the money to do much else. He feels a bit like a dog walker trying to keep Rivers on track. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Rivers is still a kid; he’s only twenty two, but it’s hard to be young in a place like this. Rivers talks animatedly about getting tattoos which has Dave laughing at the mental image of some of them getting inked. 

At some point, Rivers runs off and returns with a flyer advertising a disco near the red light district. The impish look he shoots at Dave makes him laugh so hard he nearly needs to sit down. It’s a good distraction from Dave’s own head, at least. 

Eventually, the two of them wander back towards the original part of the city. Dave finds a park bench to sit on and Rivers jokingly calls him an old man before heading off down the block in search of food. Slinging his arms across the back of the bench, Dave sinks down, throwing his head back and sighing. Rivers was kidding when he called Dave old, but _damn_ does Dave feel old. 

Vaguely, he registers a commotion in the street. Someone shouts in Vietnamese angrily. A body settles down on the bench beside him, far too close for comfort. Dave’s about to move, too lazy to even open his eyes, when a voice says, “Hey soldier, come here often?” 

“Jesus!” Dave yelps, bolting up. Klaus is sitting next to him, legs crossed and grinning, chin propped up on one hand. Dave stares at him. “Where did you _come_ from?” he asks, heart still a little fluttery. 

“I was on my way back to the hotel when I saw you and Rivers, so I figured I’d just expedite the process and meet you here.” Klaus spreads his hands, gesturing at himself. “And here I am.” 

Dave looks down. Klaus isn’t wearing his greens or the clothes Dave had loaned him the night before. In place of the threadbare t-shirt and flak jacket is a skin tight yellow striped shirt Dave is certain is at least a size too small and pants that cling to his legs more than should be allowed. A strip of Klaus’ back is exposed from the way he’s positioned leaning towards Dave. Dave’s mouth feels a little dry watching the way Klaus moves, how his clothes shift over his tanned skin.

Klaus is still talking, unaware of Dave’s internal crisis. “I had to get out of those fatigues, and I wasn’t about to continue depriving you of your own clothes, so I went out and bought some of my own.” He leans back, showing off his outfit. “You like?” 

“Where did you go?” Dave asks, ignoring Klaus’ question. He _does_ like, but needs answers first. 

Klaus cocks his head. “I just told you.” 

“You were just gone when I woke up,” Dave says. It’s a struggle to contain the outpouring of frustration and anxiety that’s been building up all morning and afternoon. “I thought I’d - I thought you - well.” He takes a breath and looks away, twisting his hands together. “I thought,” is all he says. 

“Oh,” Klaus says. Dave risks a glance his direction. Klaus seems genuinely struck, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” he says, but the apology is stilted. Though it’s never an adjective Dave would normally use to describe Klaus, the only word that fits now is _shy._

“Just tell me next time,” Dave pleads. “I was worried about you.” 

Klaus shakes himself and looks away across the street. “Right,” he says, “Cause you do that.” It’s not a sarcastic remark and that makes it all the more bizarre. Frowning, Dave reaches out to touch Klaus’ arm. 

“Hey!” Rivers calls. Dave’s hand never makes it to its destination and he sits back, arms folded. Rivers jogs up, a green bottle in hand. “You found him.” 

“He found me,” Dave says easily. 

Klaus is right back to himself, far too quickly. He nods at Rivers, an exaggerated pout on his face. “Aw, you didn’t get me one? I’m hurt.” 

“Didn’t know you’d be here, did I? That reminds me—” Rivers leans over, sliding two fingers into Dave’s pocket and withdrawing the ten dollars Rivers had placed there earlier. “I’ll just take that back.” 

“Did you bet on me?” Klaus doesn’t sound offended, just mildly amused. 

Dave winces. “I never bet,” he says at the same time Rivers says, “Yes.” 

Klaus grins. “Well,” he drawls, standing, putting his hands on his hips. “Since you and Dave obviously had a very _productive_ morning, I’ll need to steal him myself for a bit.” His smile wavers a little. In an almost unsure voice, he says, “That is, if he’ll have me.” 

“Of course,” Dave says. Klaus smiles at him, relief clear on his face. 

Rivers seems wholly oblivious to their moment. “Sure,” he says, shrugging. “I’m not his keeper. I can get into all sorts of trouble by myself.” 

Klaus holds out a hand. Dave stares at it for one second. His skin is warm when Dave curls his fingers around Klaus’ wrist, allowing him to pull Dave up. Dave drops his hand when he’s on his feet and the absence of its heat is unsettling. 

Producing the flyer for the disco, Rivers folds it up and sticks it in the collar of Klaus’ shirt. “Something fun for later,” he says, grinning. Stepping back, he adds, “Don’t get into any trouble now, you hear? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” 

“Then we’d just sit around and do nothing!” Klaus calls after him. Rivers laughs as he heads away down the street. Klaus reaches out to touch Dave on the arm. “Come on, I have something to show you.” 

“Where are we going?” Dave asks, curious as Klaus turns and heads back the way Dave and Rivers had just come. 

“I wasn’t just out accessorizing this morning,” Klaus says. “I had a couple errands to run. Some of them may have been… clandestine, but I found something I think you’ll like. Think of it as an apology. For this morning.” 

“I’m not mad,” Dave says. Klaus plucks a flower from a window box as they pass, shredding the leaves off of it. “I was just worried. I had no idea where you were. I thought after last night, you were…” 

Klaus stops in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide. “ _That’s_ why you were worried?” he asks. “You thought I ditched you because you held my hand last night?” He says it like it’s the most outrageous thing, like it was something that had never happened before, like misreading someone’s intentions wasn’t dangerous. 

Dave hushes him, hands raising like he wants to put them over Klaus’ mouth. His face feels hot. “Don’t just say things like that,” he hisses, glancing at the people walking past them. “I’m not interested in being discharged.” 

Klaus smiles at him. Twirling the flower around in his fingers, he reaches out and slides it into the breast pocket of Dave’s shirt. “That isn’t why I left,” he says, patting Dave’s chest. That simple gesture nearly knocks the wind out of him. Reaching down, he grabs Dave’s wrist and starts tugging him back down the street. “Come on, we’re burning daylight!” 

Dave lets himself be lead along the street. Klaus fills the silence with idle talk. Dave has never realized how much listening to Klaus talk about everything and nothing had comforted him until it hadn’t been there to listen to anymore. A lot of soldiers aren’t comfortable with silence - how could they be, when your mind filled it up with the noise of war? Some of them talk to themselves, some of them hum or tap on things trying to fill the silence. Dave is content to listen to Klaus. 

“You play the piano, right?” 

Dave takes a second to actually notice the question is directed at him. “What?” 

“The piano. You play it? Tell me I didn’t misremember.” They’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a line of shops about halfway between the two sides of the city. It’s a good blend of styles. Shade trees line the sidewalk next to the street. It’s humid, but at least they’re out of the sun. 

“I do,” Dave says. Klaus flashes a satisfied grin and starts shoving Dave up the steps towards one of the shops. He barely manages to avoid colliding with the door and pushes it open into the dim interior of the store. A little bell dings as the door swings open. 

Dave blinks, eyes trying to adjust. Klaus taps him on the back between the shoulder blades and Dave moves aside. Klaus slides past him into what Dave can now recognize as a music store - shelves of records line the walls. Most of the floor space is taken up by more tables with boxes full of vinyl. By the window is a guitar stand with one lone dusty six-string and next to it is a piano. 

It’s a dusty, battered old thing, but Dave makes a noise when he sees it nonetheless. “Where did you find this?” he asks curiously, running a hand over the keys that look like they haven’t been touched in a long time. His fingers come away coated in a layer of grime.

“Saw it when I was running around this morning,” Klaus says. He’s standing by one of the boxes of records, leafing through it, but he seems to be paying more attention to Dave than the music. “I thought you’d like it.” 

“I do,” Dave says, grinning. He pulls out the bench and sits - then pauses. The shop looks completely empty and no one has followed them in, but you could never be to sure. “Are we allowed?” 

Klaus shrugs. “No one yelled at me when I came in and banged on the keys earlier,” he says. “Maybe you should play something quick in case that changes.” 

“It’s been a long time since I played,” Dave says. “Last time I played I was in college. Shit… Sixty-seven? Sixty-six? I can’t remember.” 

“Hardly a lifetime ago. You want me to go first?” Klaus is grinning when Dave turns to look at him. “You’ll sound like Vivaldi compared to me.” 

“Vivaldi didn’t play piano,” Dave laughs. 

“See? Shows what I know.” Klaus nods at the keys. “Come on, play something! It’ll be great.” 

Dave cracks his knuckles. “Alright, alright,” he says, though it’s not like it was much of a battle to win. “What to play…” He’s nervous he realizes. There’s no one else in the store except for Klaus, but Dave feels like he’s about playing in front of America. He taps the keys. 

“How about Sunny Afternoon?” Dave looks up. Klaus lifts an album then tosses it like a frisbee. Dave has to lurch off the bench and halfway across the piano to be able to catch it before it shatters on the floor. Klaus laughs. “Sorry.” 

“I don’t know how well that transfers to the piano,” Dave says ruefully. “But I do know one song.”

His hands are stiff and callused from so many months of handling guns, but it’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of playing, even if his hands slip a few times. Dave is grinning in seconds. He never knew he could miss something like this so much. He’s only half aware of of Klaus abandoning his box of records to come stand by the piano, listening to it as Dave plays. 

“What song is this?” 

Dave glances up, hands stilling. “My Girl,” he says. When that nets him a blank look, he adds, “You know? ‘I got sunshine on a cloudy day,’ et cetera.” 

“Not gonna sing?” Klaus teases gently. 

Dave laughs. He picks up playing again, shaking his head. “Listen, my singing voice isn’t anything to write home about unless you’re talking about how bad it is.” 

“Oh, I doubt that’s true,” Klaus says. “How are you gonna be a musician if you don’t sing?” 

“You remember that?” Dave asks, surprised. 

Klaus blinks, cocking his head. “Of course I do.” 

“Oh.” Dave looks down at his hands, partially to hide his blush. He stops playing, tapping on one of the keys. An idea comes to him and he looks up. Gesturing at the piano, he says, “You wanna learn?”

Klaus laughs incredulously. “Me?” 

Dave scoots over and pats the bench next to him. Klaus shakes his head, but sits down anyway, smiling. “Alright, so you want to position your hands this way…” 

As it turns out, Klaus is not a very good music student. It’s through no fault of his own - Dave isn’t a very good teacher anyway, but it’s worth it if he gets to watch Klaus laugh. Dave does manage to teach him chopsticks and the easier half of Heart and Soul, but it’s clear Klaus will never be a master pianist. 

“My dad always thought music was a waste of time,” Klaus says, prodding at the keys. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. “Only Vanya ever got a pass to play an instrument. I don’t know why.” 

“My dad didn’t like that I played piano,” Dave says. He adds his own half to the song. “He thought it was a waste of time, too. He would’ve much rather I worked on cars than music, but we’ve already established that I don’t like doing what I’m told.” 

“Oh, you’re the family rebel, eh?” Klaus looks up at him from under his eyelashes, smiling. “I knew I liked you for a reason.” 

“And that’s it, huh?” Dave teases. 

“Well, there are other reasons too.” 

Klaus’ face looks a little pink and if Klaus is blushing, then Dave most certainly is. All the blood rushes to his head so fast that Dave nearly gets dizzy. Dave is so caught up with staring at Klaus that he doesn’t even look away when Klaus meets his eyes. 

Klaus’ voice is soft when he speaks. “Listen, Dave -” and there are so many directions one can go from, _Listen, Dave._

_Listen, Dave, I don’t like you that way. Sorry you got that impression._

_Listen, Dave, I don’t like you that way and I never want to see you again._

_Listen, Dave, let’s get out of here and repress this moment, never thinking about it again until the day we die. Bottle that shit up._

Logically, Dave _knows_ Klaus wouldn’t say that. He knows just by looking at Klaus’ face, an expression Dave is certain is mirrored on his own, that Klaus would not turn him down if he offered. And yet, Dave is still frightened. 

Whatever Klaus had been going to say is interrupted by the bell above the shop door - a soldier and his lady friend who nod at Klaus and Dave. Both of them look away from each other. Dave continues playing, desperate for something to do with his hands and after a moment, Klaus joins in. They play for a good ten seconds before Klaus’ fingers slip on the keys and he laughs, which in turn leads to more screw ups and more laughing. 

In the end, they can’t make it more than thirty seconds before they’re both bent double with laughter. It isn’t even _funny;_ Dave doesn’t even know why he’s laughing. He shouldn’t be, because the other soldier and his escort keep shooting him and Klaus dirty looks as they browse through the records. Something about it is just so stupid and joyously wonderful. 

“Alright,” Klaus finally wheezes, straightening and scrubbing at his darkened eyes with the palm of his hand. He reaches out to steady himself on Dave’s shoulder. “Alright, I’ll let you play.” 

Dave does, shoulders still shaking occasionally. Klaus keeps a running commentary and remains by Dave’s side. He never elaborates on _Listen, Dave_ and frankly, Dave isn’t sure he wants him to. This, right here, is fine. Maybe not ideal. But fine. 

Eventually, the sun sinks low enough in the sky to come in through the window and strike Dave in the eyes. He blinks, squinting. “What time is it?” 

Klaus glances at the clock. “Half past six.” 

Dave’s eyes widen. “We’ve been here for five hours?” he asks. He’d really lost track of time. It’d been a long time since Dave just got to sit somewhere and enjoy himself - even longer since he’d been able to waste the day in the company of a friend. 

Klaus chuckles. “Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess.” 

“No shit,” Dave laughs. “What time were we supposed to meet Rivers?” 

Klaus pulls the flyer out from his back pocket, then snorts a laugh. “An hour ago,” he says, handing it to Dave. “He’ll never let us live it down.” 

“We could just not go,” Dave offers. 

Klaus’ eyes flash as he smiles. “And do what?” 

Dave hadn’t thought that far ahead. He shrugs in answer. 

Klaus says, “We could go anyway. See where the night takes us. It’ll be an adventure.” 

There’s something in his voice that makes Dave want to shiver. “And where do you think it will?” 

“Well, I don’t know.” Klaus stands up and holds out a hand, pulling Dave to his feet for the second time that day. “That’s why it’s an adventure, right?” 

Dave lets Klaus hold his hand all the way to the front door, then their fingers slip apart. The same feeling of emptiness accompanies it, but Dave doesn’t feel quite so bad this time. All his apprehension regarding Klaus had vanished in the music store. Dave knows how he feels, and he hopes to god that he’s certain how Klaus feels, so even if his hand feels a little empty, Dave’s smile never falters.

* * *

The thing is, Klaus is kind of a coward. He’s not ashamed of it. The only reason he’s lived as long as he has is by running away from his problems. He ran away from home at sixteen. He ran away from his drug addiction too many times to count. He runs away from the ghosts whenever he gets the chance. Nothing can scare him if it’s behind him, after all. Klaus doesn’t want to run away from Dave. 

Part of him does anyway. 

It’s the same part that had looked at Dave that morning, still sleeping with his fingers curled protectively around Klaus’ hand and had made Klaus slip out of bed. The same part that had stopped him from reaching out and brushing Dave’s curls off his forehead and had stopped him from writing a note and had him slipping out the door at ten to five in the morning so he could go on the hunt for something that would quiet the bodies lurking at the corners of his vision.

Klaus doesn’t want to be a coward anymore, not when it comes to Dave. When the pesky little thing called a conscience told him that Dave was probably worried sick and he should head back, Klaus had actually _handed back_ the pills he was buying from an - admittedly, and this was Klaus speaking - seedy drug dealer. Not that he hadn’t already spent money. Klaus had tossed the pills back and said, “Hey, save ‘em for me later! I’ll probably be back. Returning client discount and all,” before doubling back out of the alleyway onto the main streets. 

He’d sulked about halfway back to the hotel, kicking a pebble down the road. He’s been out for a couple hours already; no way would Dave still be asleep when Klaus slunk back in to the hotel. He could play it off as him buying his own clothes, which wouldn’t be a complete lie because Klaus’ first errand really had been to get out of Dave’s too-big well worn shirts and shorts. Dave was too smart to totally believe that, though. 

Klaus was already thinking of ways to apologize to Dave when the pebble he was kicking ricocheted off the porch of a music shop and _oh,_ that was just _perfect._ He’d poked his head into the door to make sure it had a piano and then he was hurrying back off down the street, feeling more upbeat than he had been just a moment before. 

Klaus wasn’t expecting Dave to still be in the hotel room when he returned around nine, but he also wasn’t expecting the scribbled note lying on the bed. There was a section at the beginning of the note that looked like whatever had been written had personally victimized Dave it was so scribbled out, but the rest of the note was straightforward and to the point. Shoving his drug-laden bag under the bed (where his briefcase was, thankfully), Klaus had headed out. 

Saigon is a big city. Klaus isn’t a very lucky or observant person and he keeps getting sidetracked by the city sights, which is probably why it takes him a good three hours to even find Dave - and that part is completely by accident. The more Klaus gets distracted and the longer it takes him to find Dave, the more elaborate Klaus knows his apology will have to be. He’s up to imagining a bouquet of flowers waiting in the music store when a flash of blue across the street catches his eye. 

Dave is sitting on a bench under a shop awning, head leaned back, shirt unbuttoned. He looks disheveled, curly hair in disarray and his skin is shining with the humidity. Klaus immediately rethinks his entire plan and instead is considering just running away and getting drunk, because _hello, coward!_ Evidently, Klaus is just as impulsive as he is cowardly, because he’s crossing the street again without even thinking about it. A pedicab almost crashes into him and Vietnamese shouting follows him all the way to the park bench where he sits, too close to Dave, and resorts to petty flirtation because that’s what he’s good at and Dave throws him off. 

When Klaus notices how genuinely hurt Dave had been at his disappearance, all Klaus’ plans for a dramatic apology was thrown in the gutter. 

“I thought,” Dave had said. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Klaus to know what he means. 

So Klaus lies, because he’s a coward and he never wants Dave to look like that again. “It wasn’t,” he says. It _was._ Dave throws Klaus off so bad and Klaus is terrified. He’s never cared about someone the way he cares about Dave. Normally, Klaus would jump in with both feet. If it were 2019, he’d have no problem just going for him. But it’s not 2019. It’s 1968 and Klaus doesn’t know for certain if Dave will ever love him back. Klaus never thought of himself as the type of guy to pine in secret, but _shit,_ Dave brings out things in Klaus that Klaus never knew he had. 

He still takes Dave to the music store, but it’s no grand gesture. It’s worth it enough to watch how much Dave smiles as he plays the piano and listen to him laugh with Klaus at Klaus’ terrible attempts to play. Normally, Klaus would be the one to suggest ditching their friends to go off and be alone, so when Dave does, Klaus almost doesn’t know what to say. It’s a lot of feelings that Klaus doesn’t have any experience processing. 

So he takes Dave’s hand and says, “It’ll be an adventure.” 

He and Dave don’t hurry to the disco Rivers had told them to meet him at. Neither of them actually know where to go and it’s a bit of a challenge to read street signs. Klaus doesn’t exactly mind and neither does Dave. They just wander aimlessly, hands brushing occasionally. 

“Have you been to one of these things before?” Dave asks him as they walk. The sun is setting, turning the city into a haze of orange smoke. They’re less than a block away from where they think the disco is. It’s close to the red light district, so at least there was _that_ guiding star.

Klaus thinks of every rave he’s ever attended. “Not exactly. Similar things, though.” 

“You’ll be a pro.” 

“I’m generally a pro at debauchery and all things clandestine.” 

Dave laughs softly, ducking his head. Klaus stares. “You’ll have to teach me,” Dave says. “I grew up in a small town in Missouri.” 

“Sounds boring,” Klaus rasps. His mouth feels dry. 

“I bet you could make it interesting.” 

Klaus is inches away from saying fuck it and dragging Dave back to their hotel room when someone shouts, “Hey!” and Dave turns, leaving Klaus staring after empty air. 

Rivers is hurrying over to them. “You’re late,” he accuses. 

“Only a little,” Dave says. “We got held up.” 

Rivers sniffs, grabbing them and hauling the two of them towards a little hole-in-the-wall building Klaus probably would have walked right by. It’s the kind of building he’d practically lived out of before coming here. Smells like it, too. Klaus’ shoes stick to the floor inside. The air is heady with cigarette smoke and the smell of whiskey, as well as a faint tinge of vomit. A wave of nostalgia hits him. “You can always tell how good these things are by the smell,” Klaus comments over the dull roar of the music. 

“Smells like the inside of the barrack tents,” Dave says, sidestepping a pair of women who almost dance right into him. 

“If only they were this fun.” 

Rivers drags them to the other end of the dance floor towards a booth where Chaz is sitting with his arm around a Vietnamese woman. There’s a tray of shots in front of him. One has already been drunk and is sitting overturned on the sticky table. Andrews is nowhere to be found, but that’s no great surprise. Clubs aren’t really his scene. 

“Where’d you come from?” Chaz asks Klaus as Rivers releases him. 

Klaus grabs a shot and pushes it into Dave’s hands as he stares around the inside of the disco with a look of mild disgust and curiosity. Grabbing his own, Klaus says, “Around.” 

To Dave, Chaz says, “Told you he’d turn up.” 

“I wasn’t doubting it,” Dave says. 

Klaus knocks his shot back, enjoying the burn of terrible whiskey down his throat. Dave follows suit and Klaus snickers at the way his nose wrinkles. “Come on,” Klaus says, grabbing his wrist and towing him back towards the bar. “It’ll taste better the more you drink.” 

“Don’t think I want to drink more,” Dave mutters, but he’s grinning when they hit the edge of the bar. 

The bartender pours them two shots before Klaus can get a word in. Evidently, he knows their type. Before Dave can take his, Klaus reaches out and links their arms together. “Cheers!” he says. 

Dave’s arm is tight against his own, face impossibly close as they lean towards each other. Klaus halts, staring as Dave’s head tilts back. Klaus takes the shot before Dave can notice his staring; the burn of alcohol is almost enough to distract him from the look on Dave’s face. 

“Not so bad, right?” 

Dave grins and unlinks their arms. “It’s growing on me,” he says, voice warm. The red light in the club plays over his face, skirting across his cheekbones. It turns his blue eyes to brown and all Klaus can do is look. 

Klaus barely registers a hand on his arm, motioning him away from the bar. He turns, staring down into the bright eyes of a Vietnamese girl. She’s slender, done up in makeup and grinning. As close to the red light district as they are, Klaus has no false ideas about what she is and what she wants. In accented English, she tugs Klaus onto the crowded dance floor, saying, “Come on GI boy, let’s dance!” 

This is exactly the kind of thing Klaus would have gone for back before he got here. Before he met Dave. Klaus looks back at Dave as the girl tugs him further into the press of bodies. His smile has faltered, but when he sees Klaus looking, it comes back in full force. Dave salutes him with one hand, leaning back on the bar. Klaus laughs, but he feels strange. 

Klaus is made for places like this. Or he used to be, anyway. He’d spent his youth in clubs not dissimilar, getting into fights and drinking way too much. Hell, he’d probably gone to his first rave at sixteen and had ended up getting high enough to black out for the next fourteen hours. It’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of of dancing and drinking. Like riding a bike, Klaus never forgets. 

It isn’t long before he’s feeling a buzz. He hasn’t eaten much that day, and drinking shitty whiskey that’s probably closer to paint thinner than real alcohol isn’t doing much for his sobriety. Someone keeps pushing drinks into Klaus’ hands, or he keeps finding them somehow, so Klaus keeps drinking. It’s a blur. At some point, Klaus loses track of the woman who first dragged him on to the floor. The pulsing of the red lights and the mass of bodies on the floor - Klaus can’t even find Dave until they quite literally crash into each other on the dance floor. 

Dave is laughing as Klaus shakes a fist, both of them a little too drunk. They stop and look at each other, bodies parting around them. “Hey,” Klaus says. 

“Hey.” Dave looks disheveled, curly hair hanging in front of his eyes. The top two buttons on his shirt are undone and Klaus can see that the blush on his face has traveled down to his chest. He’s grinning, eyes liquor-bright. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Dave laughs. Neither of them pay much mind to the fact that they’re still standing in the middle of the way. “More than I thought I would, yeah.” 

“Good.” Klaus takes a step back towards the bar. “I’ll get you a drink.” 

He feels loose and warm and not just from the drinks. Klaus is pressed flush up against the bar, people moving behind him heedless of who they might be running into. He signals the bartender. Klaus has no idea whose tab this is all going on to, but he doesn’t really care. As long as the drinks keep coming and the night keeps going. He winks at the bartender when he slides two tumblers over his way, barely catching the eyeroll he gets in response. 

Klaus turns, stumbling with the flow of bodies and crashing sidelong into someone. Whiskey splashes over his hand, dripping down onto the already sticky floor. “Aw, hell,” Klaus sighs as the figure turns. 

Because the night can never just go well, the man slurs, “You got a fuckin’ problem?” 

“Yeah, my problem is that I don’t have a fuckin’ drink in my hand.” Klaus sets down the glasses, shaking whiskey off his hands and scrubbing them on his pants. The guy is big and drunk, exactly the type of person that’s no fun at parties. Dog tags flash around his neck. Great - he’s a soldier, too. Klaus just wants to go find Dave again. In an effort to be diplomatic, Klaus says, “Say, I’ll pay for yours too—” 

The soldier grabs Klaus by the front of the shirt and drags him close enough that Klaus can smell his sour breath. Klaus strains away, palms raising. He’s really wishing he hadn’t set down the glasses. Then he might have something to hit this guy with. “Listen, man, I’m sure you’re nice and all, but you’re not my type.” 

“What the fuck?” the soldier says, face pinching. Klaus can tell the guy is about to punch him out of some drunken, testosterone-fueled rage, so he squirms, freeing himself from the soldier’s grip just as the soldier lifts a fist. 

The punch barely grazes him, but it’s enough to knock Klaus back against the bar. He stumbles, pressing a hand to his stinging cheek. _I hope that doesn’t fucking bruise._

People have spread out around them now, but they aren’t really paying attention. American soldiers getting drunk and rowdy is probably a common occurrence. Klaus pushes himself up on the bar, feet slipping on the ground as the soldier takes a step towards him. 

“There a problem here?” 

The big guy turns. Klaus strains his head, staring at Dave. His knight in shining armor is standing just at the edge of the thinning crowd, glaring daggers at the man who hit Klaus. ‘Save me!’ Klaus mouths. Dave flashes a quick smile his way. 

“You this guy’s friend?” the big soldier snaps, taking a belligerent step forward. 

“I’m this guy’s sergeant,” Dave says and the swagger of the other soldier dissipates. 

“Oh,” he says dumbly. 

Dave jerks his head. “Move along.” 

The big guy ducks his head and _wow,_ it really shouldn’t turn Klaus on, watching Dave throw his weight around. Dave hauls Klaus to his feet, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Can’t even pick up drinks without starting a fight?” he murmurs.

“It’s a talent,” Klaus says, pressing his hand to his chest. They turn towards the bar, still leaning close to each other. “I make your life more interesting, admit it.” 

“You do.” 

Klaus’ face burns, and not just from the bruise. He turns to look at Dave who’s wearing a big, stupid grin. Klaus laughs. The feeling of a new, cold drink in his hands is divine. Dave grabs Klaus’ wrist. “Come on,” he says, pulling Klaus back into the crowd. “Follow me.” 

Klaus doesn’t protest as they wind through the press of bodies on the disco floor. He clings to Dave’s hand as they forge for the back of the building, where the music is a little quieter and the people are thinner. It’s less oppressive in this little cranny, hidden away by a bead curtain. Klaus can still feel the thump of the music in the soles of his shoes as he leans back against the wall, eyes closing. He lifts his drink, pressing the glass to the hot side of his face. 

Dave is looking at him, eyes soft and heavy lidded. “What did you say to that guy?” he asks, head resting on the wall, body turned towards Klaus. 

“Ah,” Klaus laughs, dropping his hand to take a drink. “Just mouthed off. You know how I am.” 

“That mouth will get you in trouble some day,” Dave says softly. 

Klaus looks up, swallowing. “Some people like my mouth,” he says. 

“I do.” 

Klaus’ mouth feels dry. Dave reaches out to put a hand on the side of his face, thumb stroking the darkening bruise on his cheek. Klaus feels his fingers twining into the curls of his hair and he looks down, overwhelmed. “Does it hurt?” Dave murmurs. 

“Not anymore.” Klaus looks at Dave’s mouth, suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. They’re so close already, close enough that Klaus can feel Dave’s breath ghosting over the skin of Klaus’ cheek. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him, just once. An innocent press of lips and if Dave hates it, or hates him, then Klaus can play it off. _I was drunk, I lost my balance, I fell forward—_

And then Dave is leading him, angling Klaus’ head so they can press their lips together. His hand is still broad and warm on the side of Klaus’ face, anchoring Klaus to the present. Klaus can’t even pretend to be surprised. It feels so right to be standing here in the hallway kissing Dave. Klaus has never thought of himself as a romantic, but the way their lips fit together is so flawless, it’s like they were made for each other. All at once, every fear he’s ever felt about Dave is washed away. 

Klaus has kissed a lot of people in his life, but there’s no feeling he can compare to kissing Dave. It’s slow, tentative and sweet and filled with a longing neither of them can fit into words. Klaus’ hand comes up, brushing against the hem of Dave’s shirt. His fingers dig into the flesh of Dave’s hip as he grips the fabric like a lifeline. Dave gasps into Klaus’ mouth. 

“Oh, god,” Klaus whispers against Dave’s lips. He and Dave are the same height, but right now, Dave feels larger than life. Klaus plants a hand on the wall behind Dave to steady himself, pulling away and looking down. Dave still hasn’t said anything, but his left thumb is rubbing circles onto the strip of Klaus’ exposed stomach. 

“Can—” Dave licks his lips, face flushed. Klaus looks up, tracking the motion of Dave’s tongue. “Can we do that again?” 

Klaus kisses him in response, fist catching in the collar of his shirt. This one is needier, less chaste and hesitant. Dave’s hand skirts up under Klaus’ shirt and Klaus nearly reaches down to pull it completely off. He doesn’t care about anyone else in the world right now. It’s dangerous and stupid to be doing this when anyone in the club could walk in on them, but right now, Klaus can’t think about anyone but _Dave._

Something clatters to the ground at their feet. They jump apart, eyes wide and hearts hammering. Klaus looks down. The glass he’d been drinking out of had slipped out of nerveless fingers, spilling whiskey across the floor. _Second wasted drink of the night,_ he thinks. Klaus nudges the glass with the toe of his shoe. 

Dave’s lips move as he says something. Klaus can’t think about anything but kissing them. “What?” he asks, dazed. 

“We should head back to the hotel,” Dave says again. Klaus’ heart seizes. He doesn’t miss it for what it is - an invitation. His hand brushes over Klaus’ hip again and Klaus nearly _squeaks._ He’s never done that before in his life, but Dave just brings out the best in him. 

Klaus scrapes his nails over his scalp to ground himself and focus on something other than the fact that fifteen seconds ago, he wasn’t too far away from saying fuck it and dragging Dave to the bathroom. “Right,” Klaus says. He takes a deliberate step away from Dave. “Right, uh. I’ll tell Chaz we’re headed out.” 

Dave looks at him, eyes dark. “Okay.” 

Klaus wants to say something. He doesn’t want to move away from Dave. He reaches out, fingers tugging on the line of Dave’s belt to pull him closer. Dave’s breath hitches in his chest. It’s a different kind of nervousness Klaus is feeling now - the kind of jitters he hasn’t had since he was a teenager. “Dave,” he breathes, just for something to say. 

Dave ducks his head, risking a hasty brush of their lips. “Go find Chaz,” he says. “I’ll wait for you.” And then he moves away, leaving Klaus feeling cold. 

He grips the hem of his shirt to form some facsimile of Dave’s hands on his hips, then sucks in a breath and heads back through the crowd. It’s tough work to weave through the people without getting snagged, but every time a Viet woman wearing less than modest clothing makes eyes at him or someone tries to pull him into a dance, Klaus feels sick to his stomach. 

He manages a few uneasy smiles and head shakes to anyone that tries to pull him into their debauchery. If only his younger self could see him now - refusing drugs, drink, and women, all because of one boy. _A boy who’s waiting for you outside,_ Klaus reminds himself. He makes it back to the bar, refusing the refill the bartender tries to slide him and manages to ask after his companions over the dull thud of too-loud music. 

The bartender points him towards a less crowded section of the bar and Klaus finds Chaz, dancing with the lady friend Klaus had never been introduced to. “Chaz. Hey! Chaz!”

Chaz drags his eyes away from his dance partner. “What?” he asks, grinning as the woman grabs him by the chin and steers his face back in her direction. 

“Dave’s had a bit too much to drink,” Klaus lies. “I’m gonna take him back to the hotel.” 

Klaus is glad Chaz is too drunk and distracted to notice that Klaus is obviously lying. Chaz just shoots him a thumbs up, engrossed with his woman and the drink in his other hand. Klaus toys with the idea of finding Rivers to let him know they’re leaving, but he really just wants to grab Dave and take him back to the safety of a room with locks on the doors. Maneuvering back through the crowd, Klaus makes it to the front door without much trouble. 

Outside, the air feels fresh against his skin. It’s still humid and sticky, but it’s a far cry from the stifling environment inside the disco. Dave is leaning on the wall outside, cigarette clenched in his teeth. He’s looking up at the faint stars hidden by the city lights, but when Klaus clears his throat, Dave looks down. His blush hasn’t faded. If anything, it looks clearer. 

“Should we head back?” Dave asks. There are a lot of ways to take that. 

“God, yes,” Klaus breathes, because he does want to. He wants to feel Dave’s hands on him again. He wants to kiss Dave and have Dave kiss him back. He just wants _Dave._

To Klaus’ great surprise, Dave takes his hand. His hands are broader than Klaus’, calluses thicker from months of fighting. Klaus marvels at the feeling of their hands intertwined as Dave pulls his hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the skin on the inside of Klaus’ wrist. It’s ridiculous that such a simple display of affection like that nearly lays Klaus out. His breath rushes out of him, eyes closing. 

Dave pulls him down the street. Their hands slip out of each other when they come into the light, but Klaus has no problem stumbling and pressing close to Dave’s side under the guise of being too drunk. The closer they get to the hotel, the faster Klaus’ heart starts to beat. He hasn’t been nervous about sex since he was a teenager - but then again, he’d never been with Dave. 

Klaus clings a little too tight to Dave as Dave unlocks the door to their room. To an outside perspective, it would seem like nothing more than one soldier helping his friend in after a night that got too rowdy, but from where Klaus’ cheek is pressed against Dave’s shoulder blade, he can feel the tremor in Dave’s heart. It makes Klaus feel a little less nervous knowing Dave is just as keyed up as he is. 

They both sigh as the door clicks behind them. Klaus buries his face into Dave’s back, fingers digging into the skin of Dave’s hips. Dave turns in his grip, hand lifting Klaus’ chin. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi.” 

Dave looks down at his mouth. “Can I—” 

“Please,” Klaus all but begs. He nearly swoons when Dave kisses him again, all that withheld passion from their kiss in the disco rearing its head now. Their brisk walk from the disco had sobered them up off the edge of drunk and it isn’t long before they’re grabbing at each other, stumbling over their feet and loose clothes as they make their way back to the bed. 

It doesn’t _feel_ too fast as Dave slides his hands up Klaus’ ribs to remove his shirt, tossing it carelessly away. Klaus likes Dave, Dave likes Klaus - this just feels like a natural culmination of the past five months. It’s their logical endpoint, the goal they’ve been orbiting since Klaus was dropped at the foot of Dave’s bed. And _maybe_ they’re both still a little buzzed, so their inhibitions aren’t as strong - not that Klaus ever had any of those - maybe they’re a little eager. 

It doesn’t stop Dave from pausing with his hands halfway finished removing Klaus’ pants. Klaus heaves himself up, curiosity and trepidation tightening his chest. “We don’t _have_ to, you know,” Dave says, though his face and voice says he very much rather _would._ “We are a little drunk.” 

“Do you not want to?” Klaus asks just in case, because this night will mean nothing without Dave. It endears him that Dave is such a gentleman, asking for permission. 

“I do,” Dave says, his voice soft and earnest, a complete contradiction to the position he’s currently in. 

“I am not that drunk,” Klaus declares. “And I don’t know if you noticed, but I also _really_ want to.” 

Dave’s eyes flick down, then back up. “I noticed,” he says, grinning. 

Klaus cants his hips a little, pressing up into Dave’s hands, enjoying the way his eyes darken. “Then what's the holdup?” he asks, only halfway teasing. 

“There isn’t one,” Dave says, flashing a wink.

Klaus isn’t poetic enough to call it _making love_ because it really _isn’t,_ but he also isn’t crass enough to relegate it to ‘fucking’. At least, not with Dave. There’s something special in the way Dave touches him even as he’s pressing Klaus into the mattress, one hand curled with Klaus’ fingers. There’s something tender in the way Dave comes with Klaus’ name on his lips and how not much later, Klaus chases after with Dave’s name on his. 

It isn’t perfect, by any means. They aren’t quite in tune with each other’s bodies yet and Dave has a nervous glint in his eye that speaks of inexperience. Klaus is quick to kiss it away, guiding his hands until they stop hesitating to touch him. It might not be perfect, but Klaus wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else. 

Later, after they’re lying spent and exhausted in the humid Vietnamese night, Dave presses feather light kisses against Klaus’ throat and collar bone. He looks more open now, looser and softer, and entirely unafraid. It's a good look on him. Klaus watches his face, tracing the highlights of his cheekbones in the yellow lamplight of the hotel room. A part of Klaus had been worried this would change things, but then Dave looks at him with soft blue eyes, and Klaus knows that it only changed things for the better. Klaus doesn’t really consider himself much of a romantic, but he just might fucking start to if Dave doesn’t stop looking at him like he thinks Klaus is something beautiful. 

It’s been a long time since Klaus was able to fall asleep with someone next to him who wasn’t going to kick him out in the morning, so he won’t blame himself for taking advantage of it. He curls up with his head on Dave’s shoulder, legs still tangled together, a far cry from their separation the night before. Dave is falling asleep, but his hand is stroking idly through Klaus’ sweaty curls. 

Klaus hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having someone hold him. It won’t be something they can do often when their leave is over. It’s hard enough to find a secluded spot to get stoned, let alone sleep with someone, so he curls tighter into Dave’s chest. They still have five more days and five more nights. There’s no reason to worry about what won’t happen for a good long while.

“Can I say something?” Klaus whispers, secure in the safety of the darkness. Dave hums, free hand sliding up Klaus’ ribs just to let him know he’s listening. “I like you.”

Dave laughs softly, mouth curling up into a tired smile. “I kind of got that impression,” he says, eyes cracking open. “I like you too.” 

Klaus reaches up to Dave’s hand on his ribs and laces their fingers together. Dave strokes a thumb across Klaus’ knuckles. Klaus hides a smile in Dave’s neck, eyes closing. He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys want writing updates or just to see what's up in my life, you can always check out my blog on tumblr, Fanthings. Full disclosure - it's not umbrella academy oriented, so it might not be your thing. but if there's anything up in my life that might delay a chapter or you just want to see how the new chapter is coming along, feel free to shoot me a message!
> 
> chapter seven (or month six) will bring us the end of leave, some fluff, and definitely some angst.


	7. Month Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super thanks to bob_fish for being an awesome beta! 
> 
> finals are over, so here's a big chapter to celebrate! A good song for this chapter is Do I Wanna Know, by they Arctic monkeys 
> 
> a brief note for the chapter -- "setting a tattoo" refers to hitting a freshly done tattoo, really, really hard. It's a military tradition, but has roots that goes back to a couple different cultures. Yes, it hurts just as much as you imagine it does.

Dave's not sure when exactly he falls asleep after that, but sometime later he's woken to pounding on the door. Sunlight is coming in through a crack in the drapes, dangerously close to striking across Dave's eyes. He pulls a pillow over his head, burying his face into the scratchy mattress. The inside of his skull feels like it's being jackhammered. Dave stretches, then curls in on himself. One foot connects with the warm body beside him and Klaus grumbles, unlatching from Dave’s side. 

Klaus slides out of bed, rooting around on the floor for something—probably clothes—then opens the door. Dave is vaguely aware of a muffled conversation between Klaus and Chaz before the door is closed and Klaus once again settles on the bed next to Dave. He runs a warm hand up Dave’s naked back. Dave shivers. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Klaus says. 

Pulling his head out from under the pillows, Dave fixes Klaus with a bleary stare. “Time ‘s it?” he asks. 

Klaus laughs. “Almost ten,” he says, reaching out to fix a curl that’s fallen in front of Dave’s face. 

“Ten?” Dave blurts, sitting up so fast he almost crashes into Klaus. 

“Relax,” Klaus says, holding up his tattooed palms. “I told Chaz you got hammered last night and had a killer hangover, so you were sleeping in. And I, being a concerned friend, decided to stay behind to make sure you didn’t drown in your own vomit. I told him we’d be ready for dinner though, but that isn’t until five. Which gives us a good—” Klaus looks at his wrist with its nonexistent watch and Dave laughs. “Seven hours before anyone else should come knocking at our door.” 

“Seven hours,” Dave says, relaxing as he lets Klaus push him back down onto the mattress. “What should we do with all that time?” 

Klaus swings a leg over Dave’s hips. “I have a few ideas,” he says, a devilish glint in his eyes. 

Dave’s still not entirely sure that this—and that the night before—isn’t a dream. Klaus is a vision and Dave has thought so long about being with him that actually _being_ with him feels almost unreal. It had all happened so fast—one minute they were kissing in the disco, and the next they were in bed together, making up for lost time. Dave has really only been with one other person before, and that wasn’t a relationship that had lasted. He’s never been with anyone like Klaus. 

Klaus isn’t inexperienced. His history of conquests looms over Dave, making his touch hesitant. Dave really shouldn’t be comparing himself to men and women he’s never met and who Klaus likely doesn’t care about anymore, but it’s hard not to wonder if what he’s doing is any good. It’s only slightly embarrassing when Klaus catches on. He’s quick to press assuring kisses to Dave’s face, guiding his hands and breathily whispering, “ _God,_ yes, just like that.” It would be a power trip for anybody to see a man like Klaus splayed out underneath them—or above, as the case may be—skin shining with sweat and lips slightly parted. 

Dave certainly isn’t complaining. They have months’ worth of sexual tension to catch up on, and they’ll have to get it out of their system now if they want to survive being on base. It’s only been a day and Dave isn’t sure how well he’ll sleep at night if Klaus isn’t in bed beside him. 

At least Dave is certain that Klaus is just as into it as Dave is. They’re more thorough now; without a haze of alcohol making their hands clumsy, they can actually take the time to think about what they’re doing. Dave doesn’t pretend not to notice that Klaus isn’t taking any drugs, but he doesn’t want to ask. It’s Klaus’ business what he does, though Dave can’t help but feel a little flattered that Klaus wants to be present for him.

It’s kind of a timeless seven hours. It isn’t exactly easy to keep track of time when your day is just lovemaking punctuated by handsy naps. Klaus likes to cling when he sleeps and Dave often wakes up more tangled with Klaus than when they fell asleep. Klaus is usually awake, watching Dave with big green eyes. 

“You need a breather?” he teases at one point when Dave opens his eyes. “Maybe some orange slices and bottled water?” 

Dave grins, smothering his laugh in a hand. “Maybe some food,” he suggests. It’s around one in the afternoon, and though Dave would really, honestly, love staying in bed all day, he’s starving. 

Klaus looks at him. “Takeout?” 

Dave laughs again. “Sure.” 

He isn’t quite sure what to call this extended date. It’s unlike anything Dave’s ever done before; certainly more fun than the only other real date he had sophomore year of high school when he had to take a girl to prom— _that_ had been a disaster. Dave still cringes thinking about it. 

Coupled with his two short lived flings when he was younger, Dave doesn’t have the romantic experience to know what it is that makes it so intimate to share a cigarette with Klaus or defend his takeout container from Klaus’ probing chopsticks. Something about sitting and talking feels just as significant. It heartens Dave to know that nothing has changed for the worse after the disco. 

Somewhere deep in his mind, he’d been terrified thinking that he and Klaus couldn’t just be anymore. Something has changed between them. It would be impossible for it not to, but at least Dave is certain that the basis of their relationship hasn’t been shaken. Whatever has changed, Dave is glad for it. He’d choose to be here, lying in bed with Klaus as Klaus traces his scars, rather than choose to be anywhere else. 

“Broke my elbow,” Dave explains when Klaus touches a two inch scar on the underside of his forearm. “I was ten. Had to get pins in.” 

He touches the spidery scar on Klaus’ forehead and Klaus’ nose wrinkles at the implicit question. “Long story,” he sighs, then launches into it anyway. “My brother told me he’d give me twenty dollars if I pretended to be his father so he could bully a doctor into giving him information—don’t ask why. Ended up having to smash a snow globe into my head to sell the role. So I guess not so long after all.” 

Dave chuckles. “Was it worth it?” 

“Hell no!” Klaus exclaims, straightening up to look at Dave. “I never got my twenty dollars!” 

Dave grins and bends down to kiss him. Klaus is so wonderfully strange; Dave can’t help but smile every time they kiss. He’s perfectly content to stay in bed the rest of the day—the rest of leave, really—but when Klaus throws an arm around Dave’s neck to deepen their kiss, Dave’s eye catches the time on the bedside clock. 

“Hey,” Dave says, pulling away. Klaus’ nails dig into his shoulders, a plaintive whine escaping his lips. “What time did you say we had to meet the boys?” 

“I dunno.” Klaus thinks for a second. “Five?” 

Dave looks down at him. “It’s four fifty.” 

Klaus releases his hold on Dave’s shoulders and falls back into the messy bed sheets. “Can’t we just say we’re tired from all this resting?” Klaus says. “Stay in bed a little longer.” 

“I don’t know about you, but I could do with some fresh air.” 

Klaus bats a hand, rolling his eyes. “That’s overrated.” 

Dave chuckles, leaning down to kiss Klaus’ forehead. “Come on,” he says, sliding out of bed and pulling Klaus up. “I promise we’ll be back. They’ll be here soon, so get dressed.” 

“Yes, Sergeant,” Klaus purrs, fingers trailing on Dave’s chest as he pulls away. Dave snorts despite the heat he can feel rushing to his face. It’ll be a problem if _that_ happens on base. Shaking his head, Dave grabs his shirt from where it had been hastily thrown the night before. Something falls out of the chest pocket when he shakes it out. Bending down, Dave picks up the flower Klaus had put in his pocket yesterday afternoon.

Dave is shocked it had survived the twenty four hours between then and now. It survived their walk through the city, the disco, and being carelessly thrown on the floor. It’s wilted, one of the petals hanging on by a thread. He glances at Klaus over his shoulder. Klaus is smoothing his shirt over his stomach, combing his hair into some semblance of order with his fingers. Grabbing his notebook from his bag, Dave slips the flower between the pages and squeezes it closed. 

There’s a knock on the door. Voice muffled, Rivers calls, “You guys alive in there?” 

“Just a second!” Dave says, hurriedly pulling on his clothes. Klaus reaches over to fix his hair, then yanks the collar of his shirt up to hide a bite mark on Dave’s neck. It’s all very domestic. Dave can’t help pressing a hasty kiss to Klaus’ mouth before he opens the door. 

It’s just Rivers out there; Chaz and Andrews are probably waiting. Dave squints out at the street, eyes watering a little. They’d kept the curtains pulled closed, cocooning them in darkness—admittedly, it had been a few hours since Dave had seen the sun. Rivers stares at the two of them, eyes lingering on Klaus, who’s grinning like an idiot. “Feeling better?” he asks Dave. 

“Huh?” 

“Klaus said you were really hungover,” Rivers says. “Feeling better?” 

“Oh,” Dave says inarticulately. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go eat.” 

They let Rivers take the lead and listen to him talk aimlessly about whatever adventures the two of them missed out on. A few times, Klaus’ palm will brush against Dave’s and both of them share a private smile. When they meet up with Chaz and Andrews at a restaurant down the street, Dave has to endure more shit about him being a lightweight, but Klaus’ smile makes it worth it. 

They sit across from each other at dinner and Dave is grateful for the dim light when Klaus starts running his foot up the inside of Dave’s leg. He only stops, smirking when Chaz nudges Dave and asks why his face is so red. 

“I’ll get you back for that,” Dave hisses across the table as soon as Chaz turns away. 

“Good,” Klaus challenges, eyes flashing. “I’d like to see that.” 

So when they return to the hotel room that night, Dave proves it to him. More than once. 

Leave goes by in a whirlwind after that. Dave finds that with Klaus to come back to every night, it’s not nearly as boring as it has been in the past. It’s a little frustrating having to walk around all day pretending that Dave doesn’t want to take Klaus’ hand or kiss him softly when they catch a moment alone. Now that Dave’s had a taste of Klaus, he can’t help but want more. By the time they have the opportunity to hide behind locked doors late at night, both of them are so keyed up sometimes they don’t even make it to the bed. 

A lingering bittersweetness always follows the fading of Dave’s afterglow. Whenever Klaus curls up beside him, clinging to his shoulders like he’s afraid Dave is going to disappear into thin air, Dave knows that in a few days, they won’t be able to be like this. The slightest wrong touch or longing look might get both of them discharged. Dave’s good at keeping secrets, but he doesn’t know if he’s _that_ good an actor, Klaus’ praise aside. They’ll just have to make the most of it while they can. 

The city of Saigon has a lot to offer. There’s always something to do, but more often than not, the five of them find themselves right back in the thick of the nightlife. Klaus seems completely at ease in the city. He’s not usually tight lipped anyway, but when he’s loosened up with a little bit of whiskey, he spins them all tall tales of his visits to Paris and England that have all of them laughing. The stories are incredible and unbelievable, but the way Klaus talks makes Dave feel like he’s watching it happen. 

“Oh, and you should all go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans,” Klaus says one night, sprawled in a booth, one leg threaded through Dave’s under the table. Red light plays across his face and chest, lighting up his eyes, and Dave will never be tired of looking. “I swear, there’s nothing better than women wearing nothing but the clothes they were born in and boas around their necks putting drinks in your hands.” 

Later that night when they’re alone, Dave asks if his stories are true. “Every word,” Klaus says, running his hands through Dave’s hair. “I never lie about the important stuff, Davey.” 

On their last full day in Saigon, after _days_ of pestering, Rivers does manage to convince them into getting tattoos. It’s midday; they’re all a little drunk from the night before and probably too agreeable, but all five of them crowd into the nearest tattoo parlor they can find. Chaz talks a big game about the kind of ink he wants, but Dave is sober enough to talk him into getting something he won’t immediately regret. 

Klaus goes first by virtue of being a tattoo veteran and practically relaxes into the chair as the needle drags across his shoulder. Maybe it’s the liquor, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as Dave thinks it should, and he passes out in the tattoo chair until the artist jostles him awake.

Dave has to check and make sure the tattoo is actually what he’d paid for because he doesn’t trust Rivers and Chaz not to take advantage. _Sky Soldiers_ is printed boldly across his tanned skin over the ugly old scar on his shoulder. His mom will be so disappointed. 

“I protected you,” Klaus whispers to him, fingers resting on the burning patch of skin on Dave’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Dave says, and has to resist pressing a kiss to Klaus’ lips. 

Andrews takes it like a fucking champ, much to everyone’s surprise, and Chaz has to practically hold Rivers down in the chair while the needle drags across his forearm. Klaus tells them about the practice of setting a tattoo and Rivers hisses that if Klaus hits him, Klaus will lose his hand. Klaus just laughs, bright and wonderful.

All told, it takes eight hours before they stumble back out of the tattoo parlor, hungover and squinting at the last edges of the sun disappearing on the horizon. They’ll have to leave in the morning. Might be best to make use of the last few hours they have left. Klaus and Dave stumble back to their hotel room to take advantage of the late hour. They’re exhausted and sore, but they strip anyway and fall into bed. 

Too tired and too hungover to do much, Klaus amuses himself by tracing patterns on Dave’s skin. He circles the raised edges of the new tattoo on Dave’s shoulder with near reverence. “How does it feel?” he whispers. 

“Numb,” Dave says. He brushes the tattoo on Klaus’ shoulder, a mirror image to his own. 

Klaus lifts up his palms to flash HELLO and GOODBYE. “These bad boys hurt like sons of bitches for days after I first got them,” he says. “Almost quit after the H in ‘hello’.” 

Dave kisses his palm, fingers curling around Klaus’ wrist to press against the umbrella tattoo he’s never explained. “I like them,” he says. “They’re very you.” 

“I had an aesthetic to keep to,” Klaus says. At Dave’s curious look, he adds, “Human Ouija.” 

Dave laughs. Grinning, he pulls Klaus forward so he can kiss him,” You’re so weird,” he says fondly. Tracing one finger around the circle of the umbrella, he asks, “What about this one?” 

Klaus hums, then sighs. “Doesn’t really suit the aesthetic, does it?” 

“Not really.” Dave kisses the tattoo. “I like it anyway.” 

Klaus sniffs primly. “You’d be the only one.” 

Dave looks up at him. “You don’t?” 

Klaus slips his hand out of Dave’s grip, rotating his arm so he can look at the faded umbrella on his skin. “It’s just a reminder,” he says. “But to be honest, I hardly even think about it anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

“Better things to think about,” Klaus says with a little smile. Dave doesn’t want to push it; clearly, it seems to be a touchy subject. He stretches languidly and declares, “I’m going to get some sleep. Take advantage of this bed before we’re back to using shitty cots. Not that we haven’t already been doing that, but you know.” 

“Goodnight,” Dave says, kissing his curls. Klaus lays his head down on Dave’s chest. Dave runs a hand up Klaus’ arm until Klaus’ breathing evens out and he drifts off. 

Try as he might, Dave can’t seem to follow him. His mind is too busy. He stays awake, staring at the ceiling long after Klaus has curled up and drifted off. Part of him is paranoid about oversleeping. Every time he drifts off, Dave’s nervous brain startles him back awake. This is the worst part about leave—nothing but waiting, knowing it’ll be over soon. The rest of him is thinking about what he and Klaus will do once they get back to base. Dave doesn’t want to let Klaus go. He doesn’t want this to be a relationship that goes in sudden and erratic bursts every time they get a few days to themselves—he _wants_ Klaus any way he can have him. 

Dave sighs, rolling to the side, staring at the curve of Klaus’ shoulder. Klaus nudges him with a foot under the blankets. 

“Go to sleep,” he mumbles. 

“Sorry,” Dave whispers. He wraps his arms around Klaus’ middle, pulling them flush together. “Did I wake you?” 

Klaus makes a sleepy noise. “Little.” 

“Sorry,” Dave says again. Klaus pats his hand. “Just thinking about going back.” 

“Problem for tomorrow’s you,” Klaus says. “Think about it then.” 

“Fair enough,” Dave says quietly. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to Klaus’ shoulder, then closes his eyes. There’s a deep seated anxiety Dave feels in going back, and it’s not just because he won’t get to have Klaus like this for a long while. Here in Saigon, Dave could forget they were fighting a war. He could forget there was real danger in their lives. He can’t do that at camp. But, like Klaus said—that’s a problem for tomorrow. Dave holds Klaus a little tighter. 

He’s not quite sure when he drifts off, or for how long, but Dave is abruptly woken by a bang from the next room over. He sits up, first instinct to go for the gun he usually keeps by his cot in the barracks. Klaus curls up, hiding his face beneath one arm. Dave lets out a breath as his heartbeat settles, running his hands over his face. It’s still dark outside, but the clock on the bedside table reads four a.m. 

Dave leans over Klaus, gently pinching the sensitive skin on his ribs. “Hey,” he whispers as Klaus squirms away from him. “We have to get up.”

“Ten more minutes,” Klaus begs sleepily.

Dave presses a kiss to Klaus’ messy curls. “Ten more minutes,” he promises. Klaus’ breathing tapers back off. Dave takes an extra second just to stare. It’s a struggle to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs and bedsheets they’ve made. From the next room over, Dave can hear Chaz and Rivers getting ready. No doubt the bang he’d heard earlier had been Chaz’s courtesy warning before he came barging in through the door. 

Dave moves around, hunting for his belongings. He indulges in one final decent shower because it will be months before they get another liberty. In the end, Klaus’ lie-in turns into a twenty minute nap instead of the ten Dave had promised. Klaus’ eyes are still closed when Dave returns, but he turns away from Dave as Dave approaches. 

“Don’t wake me up,” he mutters into the sheets. 

“Sorry,” Dave says, sounding truly apologetic as he grasps the sheets. “I can always get Chaz, if you’d prefer.” 

Klaus shoots him a bleary glare as Dave pulls the sheets back. “Can’t we just stay in this room forever?” Klaus asks, stretching out along the bed, languid. He grins at Dave’s no doubt hungry look. “You know you want to.” 

“It might get old pretty quick,” Dave says, turning away and grabbing his clothes. 

The bed shifts behind him. Klaus’ arms slide around Dave’s shoulders from behind. “We could leave,” he offers instead. “Anywhere you want. Just say the word.” 

Turning to look at Klaus over his shoulder, Dave says, “You got a way of ending this war that I don’t know about?” 

“Well,” Klaus says, shrugging. 

“You don’t know what I would give to just get away from all this,” Dave says, shaking his head. “But there’s no way we can just leave, no consequences.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Klaus says, then presses a kiss to Dave’s cheek and releases him. He disappears into the bathroom and a moment later, the shower starts up. 

It’s a somber attitude in the hotel room as the two of them get ready to go. Dave watches the sky slowly lighten through the drapes. There really isn’t much to do but sit and wait, really. This nebulous space before heading back, where he’s stuck between the mentality of a soldier and a civilian, is stressful. It’s stressful knowing in about four hours, Dave is going to be back in the middle of the stuff he’s spent the last few days trying to forget. Dave is stressed. He doesn’t want this to be over yet. 

Klaus catches his arm as Dave paces by. His hair is curly and fluffy, still damp from the shower he’d taken. The dark eyeliner he usually keeps smeared around his eyes is gone; his eyes look wider, greener. Dave just wants to hold him and forget about everything else. “Hey,” Klaus says. “What’s up? You seem nervous.” 

“I _am_ nervous,” Dave says. “You’re _not?”_

“Why should I be?” Klaus asks. “Same shit, different day, right? Of course, going back isn’t ideal, but what can you do?” he shrugs. “Besides, this isn’t the first time we’ve gone back from leave.” 

“I meant about us,” Dave stresses, gesturing between the two of them. He doesn’t know what _Klaus_ wants out of this. He’d operated under the assumption that Klaus would want to continue any way they could, but Dave had never really asked. The thought that Klaus only wants this to be a casual thing nearly makes Dave sick. “You aren’t worried?”

“No,” Klaus laughs. He seems genuinely puzzled as to where Dave’s nerves are coming from. “I figured we’d just continue on like we have been.” 

Dave pulls back, almost scandalized, like they hadn’t just spent the past six days having sex in a hotel room. “That could get us discharged,” he says. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t need any more reasons for my family to be disappointed.” 

“Wait, okay.” Klaus lets go of Dave’s arm, holding up his hands. “I’m confused. Can you tell me again, slower this time?” There’s a teasing light in Klaus’ eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to settle Dave’s nerves. 

Dave sucks in a breath. Carefully, he says, “What do you want from us? Back at base? Do you want this—whatever it is—to go on?” 

Understanding washes over Klaus’ face. “Oh,” he says, then laughs. Hurt flashes through Dave before Klaus takes a step forward, cupping Dave’s face in his palms and pulling him down into a kiss. “Of _course_ I do,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Some of the weight lifts off Dave’s chest, only to be replaced with new questions about how they’ll manage to be together without getting caught. Like he’s reading Dave’s mind, Klaus says, “We’ll figure it out, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Dave breathes. He closes his eyes. Klaus kisses him again. Dave doesn’t want to think about it that way, but he can’t help but feel like it’s something of a goodbye. 

Klaus pats the side of his face. In an echo of Dave’s words, days ago, he says, “I’m not just along for the ride, you know.” 

“I know.” Dave musters a smile, but he knows it looks forced. He backs away, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I’m just overthinking.” 

“You don’t have to think about it for another couple of hours,” Klaus says. “Can’t we just be Klaus and Dave for a little while longer?” 

“Yes,” Dave says. That’s all he wants. Dave pulls him forward, wrapping his arms around Klaus’ shoulders. 

They stay like that for a long while, enjoying the last of the time they’ll likely get for a long while. It’s six o’clock by the time anyone comes knocking on their door and they release each other with some reluctance. Klaus leans up to kiss him again, and then one more time. There’s another impatient knock on the door. 

Dave pulls away, grabbing his bag and shouldering it. “Well,” he says. “Ready?” 

Klaus grins, but Dave knows him well enough by now to know it’s purely self defense. He grabs his own pack. “Aren’t I always?” 

Their three companions are waiting outside the door. Rivers looks asleep on his feet. None of them seem especially thrilled to be standing outside at six in the morning. Chaz just raises one tired eyebrow. “What took you so long?” 

“Catching up on my beauty sleep,” Klaus says easily. He gestures at himself. “It takes a lot of work to look this good.” 

Chaz rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We gotta go. Bus is leaving.” 

The five of them set out once again, walking through the streets of Saigon for what will be the last time for months. Dave keeps looking at Klaus out of the corner of his eye. He’s still grinning that easy smile, but every time his gaze catches Dave’s, the smile turns a little more genuine. When they press together on the shuttle that will take them back up to base, no one notices if they’re closer than they need to be. 

Klaus and Dave hold hands the whole ride up to the base. It’s safe with their hands hidden between them, luggage on their laps to shelter the grip from anyone looking, but as the checkpoint to the base looms into view, Dave slips his fingers out from Klaus’. The look on Klaus’ face is nothing short of heartbreaking. Dave wants nothing more than to pull him close, but he can’t with so many people around. 

“We’ll figure it out, remember?” Dave says quietly. 

Klaus’ expression is replaced with his usual easy smile. He bats a carefree hand. “Of course,” he says as the vehicle rolls to a stop and they rise. 

It’s shockingly easy to pick up the rhythm of being a soldier again. Dave can still run drills, and clean his rifle and go out on patrols with the rest of his men, but a piece of it feels like he’s missing. Logically, Dave knows no one would notice a change, but he’s become hyper-aware of Klaus’ touch. Where once, before they kissed in the disco, Dave wouldn’t bat an eye at Klaus throwing an arm around his shoulders, now it makes Dave tense—almost like people will know just looking at his face that this touch means something different now. 

The first night back is the hardest. When they’re finally released and allowed to go to bed, Dave collapses in his cot and closes his eyes. He nearly jolts upright when he feels pressure on the side of his cot. Klaus is leaning over him, one knee on the edge of the cot. Dave’s eyes flick to the other soldiers—thankfully, they’re too busy heading to bed themselves to notice. 

“What are you doing?” Dave says softly, bewildered. 

“I don’t know.” Klaus seems just as confused. Slowly, he pulls away and takes a step back onto his own cot. “You’ve gone and gotten me used to you, Dave.” 

Dave blinks. It feels wrong to be looking at Klaus sitting across from him instead of sharing space like they’d been doing for the past week. What he wouldn’t give to do that now. Mouth a little dry, he says, “Me too.” 

He and Klaus continue to stare at each other as the lights blink out one by one until they’re left in the relative darkness of the tent. “Goodnight.” 

Dave only hears it because he’s listening. “Goodnight.” 

Neither of them actually fall asleep. He lies awake, listening to the sound of the jungle outside. He hadn’t forgotten what that sounded like, but he sure could live without it. Around them, the other soldiers drift off. Dave isn’t even tired, but he knows if he doesn’t get to sleep, he’ll regret it in the morning. So Dave sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the cot. 

Klaus makes an inquisitive noise as Dave crouches by his bed and gestures for him to follow. The men are used to them leaving in the middle of the night by now, so none of them stir. No doubt they think the two of them are just out for a smoke. Klaus grabs onto his hand as soon as they exit the tent. Dave squeezes it as he leads them towards the vehicles. 

“What are we doing?” Klaus asks when Dave ushers him towards one of the covered jeeps. “A tryst in the back seat? Very unlike you, David.” 

Dave snorts even though his face feels hot and he has to keep himself from looking around to make sure there are no prying ears. He hops up beside Klaus and shuts the door behind them. It’s dark enough inside that no one just glancing over will spot them. It’s still dangerous, but Dave feels a little braver in the dark as he pulls Klaus close. Klaus relaxes into him, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. 

“Guess I’m not ready to let you go yet,” Dave says. Already, the comfort of having someone’s heat next to him is making his eyelids heavy. 

“Good,” he hears Klaus say. “I’m not, either.”

* * *

It’s tough being in camp again immediately after their week long love fest. Klaus is still reeling a little from the whiplash of it all, not to mention the fact that his crush on Dave has only gotten stronger. Every time he catches Dave’s eye and he smiles that little soft smile reserved just for Klaus, a wave of feeling rushes over him. Sometimes, Klaus forgets he can kiss Dave and that Dave really, actually, wants to kiss him back—until of course, Dave will pull him into a hidden corner and will remind Klaus just how much he likes him. 

It isn’t easy, obviously. There are more nights they have to spend apart than not; the first night they’d managed to escape had been lucky. Four days of hectic running back and forth chased by the sound of gunfire had followed before Klaus and Dave had been given a moment alone. Their plans had hinged on winging it, which—hindsight 20/20—isn’t a great plan when you’re trying to maintain a relationship.

If a series of messy trysts and hurried kisses can be called a relationship, anyway. Klaus mentions it to Dave on one of their rare evenings alone; the back of a car is their sanctuary, something that reminds Klaus of many dates in his teenage years of fooling around in the backseat. 

“I feel like I’m in high school again,” Klaus says to Dave. It’s dark inside the jeep; Klaus can barely see in front of his nose, but he can feel the way Dave’s heart hammers inside his chest. 

Dave shifts Klaus to the side in order to pull him close and curl and arm protectively around his shoulders. “Wild high school days, huh?” 

“Well, not so much,” Klaus says. “I was homeschooled. But when I was high school _aged,_ yes, it was wild.” 

Dave smiles. “What did you do, huh?” 

“What did _we_ do?” Klaus asks, motioning towards their askew clothing. The pretty blush he can feel on Dave’s face tells that he knows the answer. 

“Glad I could help you relive the glory days,” Dave teases. 

“You haven’t, yet,” Klaus says. “I need a cheerleading uniform for that.” 

Dave ducks his head against the curve of Klaus’ shoulder. “Jeez,” he huffs. His hips cant away from Klaus’ and Klaus grins, delighted. 

“ _That’s_ what does it for you? Because I’d be more than willing to oblige.” 

“Only you,” Dave mutters. Klaus burrows into him, closing his eyes. Dave humors him for a little while, stroking his hair with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his shoulders. 

Eventually, Dave pats Klaus’ ribs. “We should go.” 

Klaus doesn’t open his eyes. “Do you need a minute? Or a hand?” 

“Shut up,” Dave laughs softly. “We have to head back before anyone misses us, you know that. Especially not here, when someone could come along.” 

There’s never enough time. What Klaus wants more than anything is to just fall asleep next to Dave and not worry about it, but he doesn’t have that luxury. He’s beginning to think that first night had been a fluke. Klaus stretches and sits up. He occupies Dave for a few moments longer before slipping out of his hold and hopping out of the jeep. Dave’s frustrated groan follows Klaus out and Klaus grins all the way back to the tent. 

Dave is skittish and nervous about being found out, so these brief moments of respite and tenderness are really all they get. Klaus doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable, so they keep what feels like an agonizing distance outside their bubbles of intimacy. 

In the daytime, when Klaus touches Dave, he’ll always shoot Klaus a nervous, desperate look, like he wants Klaus to touch him and disappear all at once. Klaus chooses not to mention that it’s probably stranger for them to keep apart when they weren’t shy about contact before their leave in Saigon. 

It’s hard not to look completely shocked the first time Dave shrugs off his hand with an embarrassed, “Come on, man.” He looks towards the other soldiers who aren’t even paying them any mind, and then to Klaus’ hand, which is sitting innocently on Dave’s shoulder. “Not here,” he murmurs apologetically. 

“Oh,” Klaus says. He pulls his hand away and shoves it in a pocket. He moves away from Dave, catching the look Dave shoots him in return. It’s confusing, to say the least, especially when Dave was so torn up about going back to base in the first place. 

“I’m sorry,” Dave whispers to him hours later, pulling him close to press kisses to Klaus’ face the first chance he gets. It’s late and the sun is setting, but it’s remarkably brave for him to pull Klaus aside in broad daylight, hidden in the shadows of one of the few permanent buildings standing in camp. “I’m sorry.” 

“What the hell was that?” Klaus asks, pulling away to look Dave in the face. “You’ve never done that before.” 

“Well it’s different now, isn’t it?” Dave asks. “Now we’re…” he trails off and gestures between them. There isn’t really a word for what they’re doing or what they have. They aren’t boyfriends and _lover_ sounds so cheesy, just the thought makes Klaus snort. They like each other. They trust each other. What’s the quantifier for that? “Now _we’re_ different,” Dave says instead. 

“Fine,” Klaus says, letting Dave pull him back in. He still feels a little miffed, but it’s easy to forgive and forget with Dave whispering sweet nothings to him. “Still figuring it out, right?” 

“Yes,” Dave sighs, relieved. “I’m glad you understand.” 

Klaus leans forward, pushing his luck to kiss Dave one more time. Dave lets him for a long moment, careful not to let it get too passionate. “Alright,” Klaus says, patting Dave’s ribs. “No touching during the daylight hours. Got it. A strict nighttime only relationship.” 

“That isn’t what I mean,” Dave protests. 

“Then what _do_ you mean?” Klaus asks, shaking his head. “Cause I’m getting a lot of mixed signals, here.” Dave ducks his head, evidently at a loss for words. Pressing a kiss to Dave’s forehead, Klaus slips out from between his arms. “I get it, Davey. Not like I’m not used to doing things in the shadows.” 

And it _is_ a different story when the sun sets. Dave is braver in the darkness and he isn’t shy to pull Klaus into secluded corners. It’s frustrating not being able to have Dave the way he wants, but Klaus understands why. Of course, they have their moments. In the nights they can’t sleep, the backseat of a vehicle is always there. The ghosts are usually nice enough to leave them alone, but there have been more than enough awkward moments where Klaus is trying to shoo a curious spirit away while Dave is preoccupied. 

Klaus sighs one evening, burying his nose into the crook of Dave’s neck. They’ve managed to escape for the night and are hiding out just beyond the edge of camp, far enough away that no one should spot them if they aren’t looking. It’s been a few days since they’ve been able to get away. They’ll have to head back soon. Klaus misses the safety of a locked door. 

Dave glances down at him. “What?” 

“ _What_ what?” Klaus asks, voice muffled from where his lips are pressed against Dave’s throat. He’s sorely tempted to bite it, leaving behind the biggest, reddest love bite he can, but Klaus knows Dave wouldn’t like that. 

“What’s the big sigh for?” Dave asks. He adjusts his grip on Klaus’ shoulders to touch his chin and pull Klaus’ head up so they can look each other in the eyes. Klaus glances away and out of the corner of his eye, sees Dave frown. “Hey,” Dave says. 

Klaus pulls out of his grip, scraping his fingers through his hair. “Sorry,” he says. These moments of vulnerability are still new to him. “Sorry, I just—I hate having to sneak away for ten minutes so we can fumble around with each other before heading back and pretend like nothing happened. I’m not used to it.” 

“You know why we can’t,” Dave says. “Klaus,” he says when Klaus still won’t look at him. Klaus glances up. “You know I would if we could, right?” Dave asks. 

“Yeah,” Klaus says, even though he doesn’t. Dave’s skittish and it _is_ still the sixties. They might be able to get away with this kind of thing in San Francisco, but Klaus sincerely doubts Dave will ever be entirely comfortable being open with Klaus. Times like these, Klaus desperately misses the future. 

Dave’s face softens. Reaching out, he pulls Klaus back into his arms. Klaus goes willingly, tucking his head against Dave’s chest. “You should come home with me when we’re finished here,” Klaus says quietly. “My family wouldn’t mind us, you know.” 

“You think?” 

“I know,” Klaus says. They wouldn’t mind it, but jury was still out on whether or not they’d actually _care._ The apocalypse is still going on, after all.

“Then I’d very much like to go,” Dave says. “I admit, I’ve been wondering about your mystery brood of siblings.” 

“They’re actually really boring,” Klaus says. “Trust me, you’re lucky you just have to put up with _my_ weird shit than _Luther’s_ issues.” 

Dave laughs. Klaus feels him bend down to press his nose into Klaus’ curls. Quietly, he says, “Well, I’m glad it was you.” 

They lie curled together for a little while longer as the moon slowly rises over the jungle. Klaus dozes until Dave nudges him awake, murmuring something about heading back to camp. Klaus grumbles but gets up anyway. They readjust their clothes, plucking leaves and twigs out of each other’s hair, making sure nothing looks out of place or suspicious. Klaus never would have guessed heterosexuality was so fucking _performative_ in the sixties. He doesn’t know how Dave does it. Klaus will always prefer his glass closet. 

Klaus pulls Dave in for kiss after kiss every time Dave tries to pull away. Dave meets him halfway, smiling every time until he says, “We really should go back.” 

“They won’t miss us,” Klaus says, hooking his fingers through Dave’s belt loops. “We ditch those losers all the time.”

“Save it for tomorrow,” Dave murmurs, ducking his head to press his lips against Klaus’ cheek. 

“Who says I’ll be so easy tomorrow?” Klaus asks. Dave levels him with a look and Klaus rolls his eyes. Releasing Dave’s belt loops, he holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. Tomorrow it is.”

To placate him, Dave holds Klaus’ hand as they head back towards camp. He doesn’t let go until the last minute, shoving his hands into his pockets as soon as people come into view. 

It’s hard not to feel snubbed, but Klaus tries anyway. They’re still exploring this new thing between them. It’s more than just sex and satisfaction, so Klaus is willing to at least _try_ and put his frustrations on ice. 

He’s used to that at least; bottling up his feelings and putting on a happy face. Klaus is growing increasingly aware that they’re heading towards stormy waters—which is remarkably self aware of him, he thinks—but he’s so desperate not to ruin the one good relationship he’s ever had that he keeps his mouth shut. Still, no matter how riled Klaus gets, he forgets about it all when he and Dave sneak off together. Klaus feels a little bit like a teenager again, sneaking his boyfriends in and out of the house. It would be exciting if it weren’t so dangerous. 

“Where have you been?” Rivers calls from his cot as Dave and Klaus enter the tent. He’s lying down, cutting a deck of cards overhead, but he’s staring at the two of them with a curious look. “It’s like, ten o’clock.” 

Dave freezes, eyes going a little wide. Klaus rolls his eyes, nudging him in the back until he takes a step towards his own bed. They really need to work on his improv. “None of your business,” Klaus says, reaching over and flicking Rivers’ deck of cards. 

Rivers complains as the cards scatter across the dusty ground. Dave collapses onto his cot, burying his face in the pillow—probably to hide the pretty blush manifesting itself across his face and chest. “I’m gonna complain if you’re getting preferential treatment from an officer,” Rivers says.

_That’s one word for it,_ Klaus thinks. As if Dave is reading his mind, Dave’s arms curl over his head. “You say that like Chaz doesn’t constantly get you off the hook for shitty behavior.” 

Rivers bats a hand, folding his arms behind his head, cards apparently forgotten. “That’s just ‘cause Chaz knows I’m dumb. Can’t punish an idiot, right?” 

“And I’m not?” Klaus says, mock offended. He circles around to his own cot and sits, kicking his legs up. 

“You’ve already got Dave on your side!” Rivers says. “Leave some for the rest of us.” 

Dave shrinks a little further in on himself and Klaus grins up at the ceiling. God, if only he had the free range to make jokes. Fortunately, Rivers doesn’t seem to notice Dave trying to disappear into the floor or Klaus’ shit-eating grin. He mutters something under his breath, rolling over to scrape his cards under the cot. 

“Hey,” Dave says softly, taking advantage of Rivers’ distraction. Klaus looks over. Dave’s chin is resting on his arms, face a lovely shade of red. 

“Hi.” 

“Goodnight,” Dave says softly. This is the one ritual Dave keeps to while they’re in camp—saying goodnight. He’s religious about that. It makes Klaus’ heart squeeze every time. 

Klaus blows an exaggerated kiss his way and Dave snorts, hiding his face again. “Goodnight,” Klaus says. 

They watch each other for a minute until Dave’s eyes slip closed and he drifts off. As soon as Klaus is certain Dave’s asleep, he fishes around in his pocket for a joint. He sighs, eyes closing as the hit takes hold. The only thing good about being at base is that Klaus has more opportunities to get high. He can still get a decent night’s sleep without the feeling of Dave’s arms around his shoulder and the sound of his heartbeat under Klaus’ ear. 

It’s not ideal, but it’s what they have to work with. Klaus is still thrilled at the idea that they have something uniquely theirs. It’s exhilarating in a way, sneaking around and trying to hide it - of course, he’d prefer being able to kiss Dave when and where he wants without fear. 

Whatever. Klaus can pretend he’s fine; it’s not like he hasn’t had to do this before with closeted guys when he was younger. Maybe it’s his urge to toe the line with death, but he’s always been a bit of a sucker for the danger of a forbidden romance. Being with a guy like Dave is dangerous and familiar all at once - dangerous, because Klaus actually wants Dave to stick around. When everything feels alright with Dave, it’s easy to forget that they’re taking a risk every time they kiss.

But, it’ll be fine. Like Klaus said, they’ll figure it out.

\---

And they do. For about two more weeks, anyway.

Vietnam is like one long nightmare with brief commercial interludes. It seems their little honeymoon period of handjobs and hurried kisses in the back of a car had been theirs. Shortly following that conversation, Klaus has a bad day, which turns into a bad week, which turns into a bad two weeks. Dave can’t be available all the time, no matter how both both of them want him to be. Dave might not know the details of who or what is giving Klaus such a bad time, but he knows what Klaus needs, so for those short couple of weeks, Klaus has a free pass to run off and get high. 

And if it isn’t ghosts, it’s the drugs - Klaus is going through his like it’s the end of the world. The onset of his shitty two weeks had begun with a platoon of soldiers getting ambushed and murdered. They’d dragged their bloody bodies back to base, found Klaus, and set about harassing him. Selfish assholes. 

Even when he and Dave can get a moment together, it’s lackluster and amounts to absolutely nothing because these ghosts are apparently not shy at all. Klaus knows Dave is worried, but Klaus doesn’t want to have the whole, “I see dead people,” conversation again, so he just presses kisses to Dave’s face and tells him not to worry about it. 

It isn’t altogether surprising when Klaus is staring down his last handful of pills, grimacing through the noise of whispers surrounding him. He needs a substitute. He needs Dave. Dave always helps with the ghosts, intentionally or not. It isn’t exactly a convenient time, but people are so busy that Klaus doubts that anyone will notice the two of them disappearing for twenty minutes. 

So Klaus hushes the ghost that’s currently bothering him—the ghost of a man he doesn’t recognize, but who hasn’t left him alone for two days. Klaus can whine about his dead squadmates all he wants, but at least they’re nice enough not to haunt Klaus’ every waking moment. 

It’s a bit of a challenge to track Dave down. Klaus doesn’t exactly want to ask anyone for directions, but he also doesn’t want to crawl around camp looking for Dave. When Klaus pokes his head into the tent to ask Chaz, he only gets to open his mouth before Chaz says, “Vehicle yard.” 

“Thanks!” Klaus says, not sticking around to hear what Chaz says in response. He hurries off in that direction, unable to stop the grin on his face. Even if there are other soldiers around, just being near Dave makes it easier to ignore the spirits. Klaus just needs a distraction until the ghosts realize he’s not interested in helping them and leave him alone —not that that usually works, but anything helps. 

As luck would have it, Dave _is_ standing alone in a secluded corner. It’s the same corner they usually sneak off to at night, so, bonus. He’s staring up at the sky, leaning on the side of the jeep—clearly, he could benefit from the addition of Klaus’ company. Soldiers are in earshot, so Klaus doesn’t bother calling to him. 

He sneaks up instead, stepping quietly until he’s right behind Dave. Sliding his arms around Dave’s middle and enjoying the way he jumps and swears, Klaus says, “You should pay more attention. What if it wasn’t just me sneaking up on you, huh?” 

Dave squirms out of his grip, turning to face him with an embarrassed look on his face. “What are you doing?” Dave asks, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and glancing around. 

“There’s no one nearby,” Klaus says, an easy smile on his face even if he does feel a little stung. “What, a guy can’t get some simple love and affection from his boyfriend?” 

Dave jumps at that, eyes going wide. He seems genuinely speechless for a second and Klaus feels a little thrill of pride before Dave folds his arms across his body, walling himself off. “Not here,” he begs softly. “Can’t it wait?” 

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. God knows how many times he’d heard that from his family. He’d thought Dave was different. At once, every little frustration Klaus has felt about Dave’s skittishness rears its head. “Oh, sorry,” Klaus says bitingly, pulling away from Dave with a theatrical wave of his hands. “I forgot that your love was conditional.” 

Dave glances at him sharply. “Excuse me?” 

“Am I wrong?” Klaus asks. “You pretend like you barely even know me around the other soldiers, like you think saying my name or patting me on the back is going to telegraph the fact that we’re fucking.” 

Dave startles at that, eyes wide. He draws back. _“Klaus!”_ he hisses. 

“Newsflash,” Klaus continues like Dave hadn’t spoken. “It’s _way_ more suspicious to act like something’s changed, because then people will start to think that something’s changed.” 

“Would you not say stuff like that?” Dave says, fisting a hand in his hair. 

“Why shouldn’t I?’ Klaus says. His frustrations are boiling over a little and he plants his hands on his hips. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like I want everyone to know that!” 

Klaus clenches his jaw. He’s had his fair share of shitty partners who have had to sneak him around and lie. It’d been exciting with Dave in the beginning, but every harried encounter and hasty kiss had worn further on Klaus’ patience. “Then what do you want?” Klaus asks. “Do you want me to be _available?”_

Dave’s face colors. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.” 

“Then what did you mean? Because I’m getting some pretty mixed signals, here.” 

Dave clenches his jaw and looks away. “I don’t know,” he says after a beat. 

“Well, figure it out.” Klaus crosses his arms. “I’m tired of you blowing me off!” 

“Would you lower your voice?” Dave hisses, face flushing red. His eyes dart around, looking for anyone who might be close enough to overhear. They’re fairly well isolated as it is, which is why Klaus had felt safe enough flirting in the first place, but apparently the fact that the sun’s out is enough for Dave. 

“Do you really think people don’t already know?” Klaus asks. The stricken look that passes across Dave’s face tells him that no, Dave hadn’t thought of it. “We go off together almost every night. We’re the only two who call each other by our first names. Fuck, everybody _knows_ I’m not straight. They know about us, they just don’t fucking care. It’s not gay if it’s _situational,_ right?” 

Dave looks torn between grabbing him and pulling him into a hug or clamping a hand over his mouth. The part of him that’s angry seems to win. Voice strained, he says, “Jesus, Klaus, I don’t know what kind of childhood you had where you didn’t have to be afraid of a broken nose, but it _wasn’t mine._ I’m trying not to get killed here, and that includes not getting lynched by my squadmates.” 

Klaus’ hands clench at his sides. He doesn’t think he should be getting as angry as he is, but he doesn’t _know._ He’s so bad at managing his emotions and he’s spent so long pushing these ones down that they’re springing up now, uncontrollable. “You don’t know fucking anything about what my life was like as a kid, so don’t start that contest.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Dave snaps back. He motions sharply at Klaus. “You never tell me anything, and when you do, you always hide it behind a layer of bullshit jokes!” 

“I’m not joking now,” Klaus says. 

Dave’s face hardens. “Well, what is it that you want from me, huh? Do you want me to take you by the hand and propose in front of all the troops? Are the drugs not enough for you that you want to use me to be your new device for self destruction? Because tell me right now and we can be over.” 

“You think I have it easy being the 173rd’s very own queer, huh?” 

“See, that!” Dave points at him, stepping close. “You don’t get to complain about my level of affection, and then talk about how hard it is being a queer. Do you really not understand _why_ I’m scared?” 

“Well at least I’m honest about not being a fucking closet case,” Klaus spits. “And you know what? I’ve had my share of broken noses. I just don’t let them get to me because I’m not afraid of who I am.” 

“Right,” Dave says. “Says the drug addict.” 

Klaus steps back from Dave. He smiles, because that’s all he can do, and raises his hands in surrender as he backs away from Dave. “Classic,” he says. “Really, that’s just typical.” 

Turning on his heel, Klaus goes to leave. He stops and spins around, still walking backwards. “What happened to _not being along for the ride_ , huh? _You can tell me things, Klaus!_ What happened?” 

Dave doesn’t say anything, so Klaus turns his back on him and stalks off. Dave swears and there’s a clang as his boot connects with the door of the jeep. Dave doesn’t call after him and Klaus doesn’t stop walking. He heads towards the corner of camp he always heads to to get high, making sure to avoid anyone coming his way. He’s seething, hands shaking. 

Klaus jams them in his pockets, fingernails biting into his palms. Tears have been building in the corners of his eyes for a while and he chokes back a scream of frustration as his back hits the wall of the shed he likes to hide behind. In his pocket, Klaus grabs for the remaining few pills he has left from what he bought in Saigon. Screw saving them for later. He needs them now. 

“What’d you think would happen, Klaus?” he mutters to himself, shaking the rest of the pills into his hand. There are three left. He takes all of them, not bothering with water. Sighing, Klaus lays down in the grass, crossing his arms behind his head. “Lower your expectations,” he says, eyes drifting closed.

\---

The sun is just past its zenith when Klaus comes back around.

The shade he’d been lying under when he first sat down is gone now. Klaus’ face feels warm and tight. No doubt he’ll have an impressive sunburn later. Groaning, Klaus sits up, blinking the spots out of his eyes. He scrubs dirt out of his hair, burying his face in his knees and sighing. 

Memories of his fight with Dave are still fresh in his mind. Every recalled word digs a little deeper in his heart, picks a little more at his facade of carelessness. Of course Klaus was going to push away the one person who cared about him. That was just typical—and, in Klaus’ usual fashion, he’d run away from the problem. Man, he really should have just saved himself the trouble and left Vietnam as fast as he got there. 

His residual high is making his head hurt and his skin itch, which only adds to his bad mood. Klaus’ hand slips inside the pocket of his pants and comes up empty. “Goddammit,” he sighs. He’d taken the last of his drugs. Rivers probably has some to share, but there’s no telling if he’ll be willing. Or if Dave will be nearby to give Klaus the disappointed stinkeye. 

“Well, I don’t care what Dave thinks,” Klaus says to himself, pushing himself to his feet. He just wants to get high and forget. 

Hands in his pockets, Klaus wanders off through camp, keeping an eye out to avoid Dave. People are content to leave him alone, focused on their own duties. Gunfire rattles in the distance and Klaus thinks that might be fun, just to get his mind off things. 

He finds Rivers sitting in front of the tent, gear splayed out in front of him. He glances up as Klaus approaches, then raises an eyebrow. “You look like someone just came along and told you your mother was dead,” Rivers says, setting down the rifle scope he’s polishing with a corner of his shirt. 

Klaus presses his hands to his chest, schooling his expression into something more characteristically carefree. “Who, _me?”_

“Yeah, _you.”_ Rivers nods towards the patch of dirt next to him. “Pop a squat.” 

Klaus sits next to Rivers, sighing. “I dunno why you think anything could be wrong,” Klaus says, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. “Not the war, not the constant threat of death … I wonder.” 

“That shit never bothered you before. Quit being a jackass.” 

“But my brand, Rivers.” 

Rivers rolls his eyes. “Alright fine, don’t tell me.” 

So Klaus doesn’t. Rivers wouldn’t understand anyway, and even though he and Dave aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment, Klaus isn’t stupid enough to air out their business publicly. Klaus does reach into his pocket and pull out a cigarette which he and Rivers pass back and forth in companionable silence. For a little while, anyway. 

“Aren’t these Dave’s?” Rivers says, inspecting the cigarette. 

They are. Klaus must’ve grabbed one of his packs by accident. No wonder they hadn’t tasted like tar. “He doesn’t mind sharing,” Klaus says. He doesn’t really want to talk about Dave at the moment, so he sticks the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and leans back. 

But, speak of the devil. From around the corner, Dave appears. He stops short at the sight of Klaus and Rivers sitting in front of the tent. Klaus meets his eyes and looks away just as fast. Rivers glances between the two of them, eyebrows raised. Jaw clenching, Dave pushes past them into the tent. 

Klaus sighs when Dave disappears, running his hands through his hair. He’s still keyed up from their fight and not quite ready to talk about it. “Ah,” Rivers says teasingly. “Had a domestic, huh?” Klaus looks sharply his way and the look on his face makes Rivers laugh. “Kidding! Sheesh.” 

Klaus sniffs and looks away. “Well,” he sighs. “I guess you aren’t too far off.” 

Rivers shrugs, looking back down at the rifle on his lap. “What’d you have to do to piss Katz off, anyway?” 

“Why do you assume it was my fault?” Klaus asks, irritated. If anything, Dave had started it. Klaus had just finished it. 

“Because you’re you?” Rivers says like it’s the obvious answer.

Klaus rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, brushing dirt off his pants. “Oh, clearly,” he says sarcastically, turning to go inside. “I tell you Rivers, I’m feeling pretty unappreciated.” 

“Call the presses,” Rivers says, staring down the sights of his rifle. 

Klaus grumbles, reaching for the tent flap. It’s pulled away from the inside at the last minute. Klaus looks up at Dave. He has both his rifle and Klaus’ over one shoulder. Brows furrowing, he pushes Klaus’ rifle into his arms. “Come on,” he says, hands on Klaus’ shoulders moving him gently to the side so Dave can squeeze past him. “We have a patrol.” 

“Great,” Klaus sighs. He shoulders his rifle. 

“It was that or dig trenches,” Dave calls over his shoulder, striding away. “Rivers, come on.” 

Rivers groans, getting to his feet. “Dunno about you, but I’d rather be digging trenches.” 

“Yup,” Klaus says. He’s not looking forward to hours of awkward energy simmering between him and Dave. His anger at their fight had dulled, but he doesn’t feel any less bad about it. He’d done what he always does: needle and snap until he pushed people away. Klaus shakes himself, grabbing Rivers and pulling him after Dave. “Come on,” Klaus says. “Might as well get it over with. We’ll be back in time to kick Chaz’s ass at blackjack.” 

It doesn’t keep Rivers from grumbling as the two of them follow Dave a little ways back. Despite his carefree attitude, Klaus isn’t exactly thrilled about this, either. He doesn’t know what Dave’s angle is, and Klaus isn’t really the one to extend the olive branch—especially not when he was the one that finished the fight. Besides, Dave and all his stupid rules means he probably won’t, either. Can’t be too _obvious,_ after all. 

Dave is helping two other soldiers load guns and bags into a jeep. Klaus notes, with some sense of irony, that it’s the same jeep they’d been hiding behind during their argument. The back door behind the driver’s side is dented, paint scuffed away—from when Dave had kicked it, presumably. 

“Hargreeves.” 

Klaus pulls himself out of his own head and focuses in on the hand extended to him from the back of the jeep. He follows it up to its owner’s face. Dave looks hesitant, almost apologetic. “Did you call me Hargreeves?” Klaus asks instead of taking Dave’s hand. The other soldiers are looking at them. Everyone knows they’re friends, and Klaus has, historically, never been shy about touching Dave before. 

Dave’s hand falters. “Yes,” he says warily. 

Klaus stiffens, smile frozen on his face. “I’ll walk,” he says, brushing past Dave’s hand. Dave had never, not once, called him Hargreeves before. It had made Klaus feel good. Dave had been the only person to make him forget about the future and about his past. Not any more, it seems. 

Dave’s eyebrows furrow. He leans back into the jeep, then hits the side of the door. It rumbles to life and begins to roll along, laden with soldiers, some still trailing behind. Rivers looks between Klaus and Dave a few times before he hops out of the back of the vehicle to walk next to Klaus. 

“Solidarity,” Rivers whispers, bumping his knuckles against Klaus’ shoulder. 

Klaus stays looking resolutely ahead, finger tapping on the trigger guard of his gun, but he does smile. Throwing an arm around Rivers’ shoulders, Klaus turns his attention away from Dave and tries very hard to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. 

It isn’t easy. The more he tries to focus on something else, the more Klaus just seems to think about Dave. He usually doesn’t altogether mind going on patrols. It’s just a lot of walking; more often than not, Klaus can zone out and entertain himself in his own head. 

And he _does_ manage to space out, listening to the idle chatter of the other soldiers and the plot of their boots through the jungle, but it’s never too long before Klaus comes back around and his mind jumps immediately to Dave. Klaus flits here and there, talking with the other soldiers. It works for a little while, but those conversations always end up at some variation of, “So what’s up between you and Katz?” 

Eventually, after enough bullshit Klaus-typical answers, Klaus ends up walking at the back of the line again. Rivers is ahead of him, staring into the jungle as they walk. Klaus is itching for a cigarette or a pill, but he’d burned through all of those and the only cigarettes in his pockets are Dave’s. Dave has been shooting Klaus looks for the past fifteen minutes like he’s waiting for Klaus to quit wandering around and stand still. 

Evidently, with Klaus at the back, now’s his chance. Dave glances at the line of soldiers in front of them and hangs back, waiting for Klaus to catch up. Klaus doesn’t stop walking, but he doesn’t look at Dave, either. Lacing his hands behind his head, he whistles casually as Dave picks up the pace beside him. 

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly. 

“About what?” Klaus asks. “The weather? What a beautiful vacation spot the A Shau valley is? Your grandma’s cookie recipe?” 

“What? No.” Dave shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Klaus, you know exactly what about.” 

“Oh, I thought it was _Hargreeves _now,” Klaus says. “Are we back on a first name basis?”__

__“Fuck, Klaus, I’m trying to apologize here,” Dave says._ _

__Klaus’ head swivels his direction. He’s still smiling, but he knows it looks plastered on. “As everyone’s so fond of pointing out today, I’m an asshole. Try again later.”_ _

__Dave’s face tenses up. He mutters something under his breath that Klaus doesn’t quite catch and forges ahead, shouldering past Rivers on his way to the front of the line. Rivers skitters to the side, eyes widening. He looks at Klaus and doubles back._ _

__“The hell was that all about?”_ _

__“No idea,” Klaus says, all innocence, even though his hands are shaking from where they’re buried in his curls and his heart is pounding against his ribs. He tells himself it’s just from withdrawals, and not the guilt and frustration winding its way around his chest._ _

__“Never thought I’d see the day Katz got pissed off,” Rivers says, eyes fixed on Dave’s back. “He’s always in such a good mood. Something must’ve really gotten under his skin.”_ _

__Klaus sighs. Of course he’d felt bad about their fight. He’d felt guilty and strung out and exhausted from it, convinced he’d fucked up again and could put another notch on his belt for failed, short-lived romances. Some part of him had just assumed, based on past experience, that Dave was like any of the other guys he’d dated before. Klaus could fuck up, be a bitch about it, and come wandering back later like nothing had happened._ _

__But Dave isn’t like that. He’s better. He actually cares about Klaus, and Klaus is a big fucking moron. Pulling his hands up and over his head, he presses his hands against his eyes. “Fuck,” he says softly. Dave is a good guy. A good guy trying his best in less than ideal circumstances with a less than ideal partner. And Klaus has really, royally fucked it up. “Fuck,” Klaus says again._ _

__“What?” Rivers asks._ _

__“Oh, just realizing I’m a big stupid idiot,” Klaus sighs. “Be right back.” He shoulders his rifle, hurrying towards Dave. Dave glances at him when he appears and shakes his head, training his eyes forward on the jungle ahead of them._ _

__“Dave,” Klaus says._ _

__“Didn’t realize we were back on a first name basis,” Dave says acidly._ _

__Klaus winces. “Okay, I probably deserve that.”_ _

__“What do you want?”_ _

__Klaus bites his lip. “I want to say sorry,” he says softly, glancing at the other soldiers._ _

__Dave stares at him. It isn’t the soft, longing look Klaus had imagined. In fact, he looks just a little bit dumbstruck. “You are _unbelievable,_ ” Dave says._ _

__“Uh,” Klaus says._ _

__Dave interrupts him. “And no, that isn’t a compliment.” He lifts his hands, toe of his boot digging into the dirt as he turns. He presses one hand against his face and lets out a measured breath. Turning back to Klaus, Dave says, “I am not running on your schedule. I’m not going to try and apologize only for you to give me shit, and then listen to _your_ apology five minutes later. It doesn’t _work_ that way.” _ _

__“Well what the fuck do you want from me, Dave!” Klaus says, throwing up his hands. Some of the other soldiers glance their way, so Klaus forcibly lowers his voice. The rumble of the jeep not too far ahead of them is doing a good enough job disguising their argument, anyway. “You’re pissed off when I’m being my most on-brand me, and you’re pissed off when I try to apologize? How do I win with you?”_ _

__“When will you realize there’s nothing to win?” Dave says. He stops and stares at Klaus, eyes searching. “It isn’t a game to me, Klaus. It never was.”_ _

__Dave lingers for a moment, looking down and away. He pats Klaus’ shoulder as an afterthought and turns. Klaus lets Dave walk on, watching his back. “That didn’t go as well as I thought it would,” Klaus says as Rivers catches up._ _

__“You know, whenever my dad pissed off my mom, he’d buy her flowers to apologize.”_ _

__Klaus shoots Rivers a scathing look that has Rivers laughing and stomps off after Dave. He never does get the chance to follow up. Partly because he isn’t exactly keen on getting yelled at again and partly because Dave puts himself in the company of other soldiers. If he’s pissed off at Klaus already, there’s no chance Klaus is going to make it worse by bringing up their issues in front of other people._ _

__Klaus has no metric for comparison when it comes to fighting. Boyfriends he’d fought with before had always come back later, be it for sex, drugs, or whatever reason they had Klaus around at the time, but he’d never cared about them the way he cares about Dave. He has no idea how to fix it._ _

__Rivers glances at him when Klaus sighs for probably the third time. “Alright,” he says as they walk, shouldering his rifle. “I’ll bite. You good?”_ _

__“Do you ever just feel like you fucked something up too much to fix it?” Klaus asks._ _

__“Uhh,” Rivers says. “No, not really.”_ _

__Klaus rolls his eyes. “You’re so good at advice. Really, it’s a wonder not everyone comes to you for help.”_ _

__“I’m more of a live and let live kinda guy,” Rivers says. “If something gets fucked up and it’s gone, I’m not going to mope about it all day. I’ll get over it.”_ _

__“Well, I don’t want to get over it!” Klaus says. “I want to fix it, and I don’t know how.”_ _

__Rivers glances at something over Klaus’ shoulder and his eyebrows raise. Klaus twists around. Dave is just behind him, staring at Klaus with soft eyes. Klaus’ face warms and he turns back around, shoulders hiked up. That’s not exactly how he wanted that to go, but whatever._ _

__“Klaus,” Dave says, and then the driver of the jeep honks to let them know they’re exiting the jungle. Dave shakes his head, looking forward._ _

__Rivers takes the lead as they come out of the jungle into a stretch of tall grass. “I dunno _what_ weird energy you guys have got going on back here, but it’s bumming me out,” he declares, leaving Dave and Klaus behind him as the line of soldiers spreads out across the field. _ _

__Their singular jeep slows to a near crawl and the passenger jumps out, darting in front of the vehicle so he can part the grass in front with the barrel of his rifle. The risk of mines is high here, and it’s too dangerous to stay grouped together. Klaus and Dave share a look. Dave glances away first, shouldering his rifle and moving on._ _

__Klaus sighs and follows suit, moving a few feet further to the right. The sun is high and there’s no shade out in the middle of the field; no doubt this area had been cleared out for a reason. Five hundred feet across the way is the tree line and the dirt road that will take their patrol up and around to a meandering road that will eventually lead them back to camp. The urge to tug his helmet down over his eyes to shade them from the sun is almost overwhelming, but Klaus keeps his eyes fixed on the ground instead. Snakes are just as much of a risk here as mines are. Klaus isn’t keen on stepping on either._ _

__He hates crossing fields. There are always ghosts milling about, waiting for Klaus to look up and meet their bloody faces. It looks like a scene from a shitty zombie film the way the dead stand and loiter in the grass. The spirit of a Charlie is standing in the grass some fifteen feet away, looking a lot like a scarecrow with the way his flesh is slashed open and his eyes are bandaged.His head turns to follow the sound of their walking. Klaus notes with some disgust that he follows with lurching footsteps. Not long after, a pair of American soldiers follow suit, blood soaking the fronts of their uniforms._ _

__Klaus has plausible deniability in the jungle, where there’s always something or someone else to look at, but these fields are just too goddamn empty. It’s always louder too, for some reason, like the emptiness amplifies their noise. The ghosts are screaming—at Klaus, at the other soldiers. He doesn’t even have any booze to dull the sound. Klaus squeezes his eyes shut for a brief second, trying to focus on the sound of Rivers’ humming or the rustle of his feet in the grass as he walks. He really wishes he hadn’t taken the last of his drugs._ _

__“Hey, Rivers,” Klaus says when that doesn’t work. The kid looks back at him, one eyebrow raised. Klaus has to raise his voice a little to clear the ten feet that separate him and Rivers and the noise of the ghosts hissing in his ear. Dave is usually his distraction, but Klaus doesn’t have that option at the moment. “Tell me something.”_ _

__“Like what?” Rivers asks._ _

__Klaus shrugs. “I dunno. You’re good at talking; just say anything.”_ _

__Rivers barks an incredulous laugh, turning on his heel to step backwards through the long grass. Further down the line, Dave turns to watch their conversation out of the corner of his eye. “That’s rich, coming from you,” Rivers says. “You’re the master at bullshit. Why don’t you tell me a story, huh?”_ _

__“Hey!” Dave calls. “Face forward, Rivers!”_ _

__Both Rivers and Klaus ignore him. “‘Cause I asked you first and you love me,” Klaus says._ _

__Rivers sticks out his tongue. It’s hard to look at him. A spirit missing an arm and half a face has taken to circling him, looking between Klaus and Rivers. Klaus forces a grin with practiced ease even as his stomach clenches watching the ghost hiss something to Rivers that Rivers can’t hear._ _

__Rivers is talking again, but Klaus can’t focus. The man with the blindfold is right behind him and Klaus feels an itch on the back of his neck like someone is breathing on it. Despite the heat of the day, Klaus feels cold._ _

__“Yo, Hargreeves, I’m not telling stories if you’re spacing out on me.”_ _

__Klaus’ eyes flick back up to Rivers. He’s staring at Klaus, still walking backwards. The look on his face is irritated, edged with real concern. Klaus bats a hand, looking away as the ghost hisses something at Rivers again. A buzz starts up at the base of Klaus’ skull. “That must be it,” Klaus says. He baps his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Must’ve forgotten my medication today. Silly me. For my nerves, you know.”_ _

__“I thought it was _asthma_ medication,” Rivers teases. _ _

__The noise from the ghosts grows louder. It feels like a tangible pressure behind Klaus’ eyes, and it isn’t helped by Dave shouting, “Rivers! Jesus H Christ, turn around!”_ _

__God, if only he’d saved one of his pills. “Can’t a guy have more than one problem?”_ _

__Rivers laughs, head tilting backwards, and Klaus takes a brief second to grimace at the ghost growling at them. Klaus makes an aborted gesture with his hand, hissing at the ghost to cut it out. His eye widens. He talks with renewed vigor, rasping something adjacent to English words. It’s hard to make anything out with the holes in his face and throat, but he seems insistent, pointing at Rivers. Probably just some VC bitter about dying, just like the rest of them._ _

__He turns, gesturing with his one remaining arm, and Klaus catches a glimpse of the American flag patch on his sleeve. Fixing Klaus with his unbloodied eye, the dead soldier points at the ground at Rivers’ feet, right where he’s about to step._ _

__That’s what clues Klaus in, but too little, too late._ _

__“Rivers, stop!”_ _

__Rivers turns his head to look at Klaus just as his foot falls. A detonation rips through the air the same instant. Clods of dirt and grass go shooting up into the blue sky. Klaus is blasted back a good ten feet, breath whooshing out of him as he hits the ground hard, head snapping against the dirt. His ears are ringing, vision a blur as he tries to draw breath back into his lungs. The air smells like acrid smoke and burned meat. Fine ash dusts Klaus’ face, stinging his eyes. Klaus coughs, pain lancing through his body as his chest spasms._ _

__Someone touches his shoulder and Klaus comes back to himself, focusing on a fuzzy shape in front of him. Dave slowly comes into focus above him, haloed by a pillar of black smoke against the sky. Terror is plain on his pale face and his hand is shaking as he touches Klaus’ cheek. Dave is saying something, but Klaus can’t make it out beyond the buzzing in his head. “Rivers,” he gasps, but it probably isn’t much more than a wheeze. His chest aches._ _

__Grabbing his forearm, Dave pulls him to his feet, not so subtly running a hand down Klaus’ chest to check for blood. Klaus stumbles, leaning into Dave’s grip. Any bad blood either of them had harbored is gone now. Klaus just wants to grab tight to Dave and never let go._ _

__Dave’s trembling hand is splayed hot and heavy on Klaus’ abdomen, doing its part to keep Klaus upright. The ringing in his head is starting to fade bit by bit; touching his left ear, Klaus’ fingertips come away bloody. Dave jostles Klaus’ elbow. Dazed, Klaus looks up. “—Kay?” Dave is saying._ _

__“Huh?”_ _

__“Are you okay?” It takes a second to process the question. The only coherent thought Klaus can string together is, _Jesus, I’m concussed._ Dave’s eyebrows furrow. “Klaus?” _ _

__“Uh huh,” Klaus says. He nods, because real words are beyond him right now. Dave seems reluctant to let go of him. All Klaus wants is for his head to stop spinning and for Dave to keep holding on to him, but he looks up anyway and croaks, “Rivers.” Dave’s eyes go wide. He turns around, searching for their friend. Klaus knows. The soldier with one arm is gone, and Klaus _knows.__ _

__The rest of their patrol is tense, rifles lifted in the direction of the jungle; the smoke is a beacon. There’s no telling who saw it. Some of them edge closer to where the mine had gone off, but Klaus and Dave are the closest. The field medic is already picking his way across the grass as fast as he can, wary of more explosives._ _

__He pushes out of Dave’s arms, stumbling forward. Someone shouts at him to stop, but Klaus definitely has a reason to pretend he doesn’t hear as he staggers towards the smoking crater where Rivers used to be. Klaus stumbles, boot catching on something lying in the grass, palms stinging as they hit the dirt. For a brief second, Klaus thinks it’s a mine, but he’d be dead already if it were. He turns, scrambling to his feet._ _

__It’s a leg. Or what’s left of one, anyway. It’s definitely Rivers’, because those dog tags strung through the bootlaces have RIVERS, ADRIAN stamped on the metal, clear as day, but Klaus doesn’t want to believe it. Fear and disgust roil up in Klaus’ stomach and he turns away, gripping a handful of his hair. Terror coupled with the overwhelming need to know drives Klaus onwards towards the fading smoke. The sight that greets him at the crater is worse than the leg. Ghosts are clustered around the body and Klaus has to brush past several of them in order to get close enough to see._ _

__What remains of Rivers’ body is lying fetched up just outside the blast radius of the mine. It isn’t much more than meat at this point. Both his legs are missing, one at the thigh and the other at the shin. Burns pepper the left side of his body. Holes in his uniform are still smoking, baked into his peeling skin. He must have died instantly. At least, Klaus thinks, it was fast. It doesn’t stop tears from gathering in Klaus’ eyes as he stares at the body._ _

__Dave appears at Klaus’ side and curses immediately, scraping a hand through his hair as he turns his back on the body. He lays an arm across Klaus’ shoulders to steady himself, staring up at the sky. The rest of the men on patrol cluster near, looking on in silence. The field medic who had accompanied the patrol is crouched next to Rivers’ body, peeling his dog tags away from his burned flesh._ _

__Klaus is too busy looking at Rivers to understand what the medic is saying. Not the corpse, but the ghost, who is standing on two shredded limbs surrounded by the already-dead, staring at his own body. “Oh, fucking come on,” Rivers sighs._ _

__His ghost is a nightmare. Flaps of skin have been torn off his body entirely, sagging if they’re connected at all. The juncture between Rivers’ neck and shoulder is gashed open, exposing shiny, bright bone. His legs are almost bare of muscle; thick ligaments strap across his shins and bloody feet. Burns pepper his skin where it isn’t red from blood; the left side has it worse than the right, but all of Rivers is stuck as a blood soaked nightmare. Guilt swells in Klaus’ chest._ _

__Klaus flinches when Rivers speaks and Rivers’ ghost looks up. His one eye that isn’t covered in burns meets Klaus’, and Klaus’ face crumples. The tears budding in the corners of his eyes slip free. “Oh, shit,” Rivers rasps. A flap of skin is drooping down his cheek, exposing teeth, gum and bone. Klaus has to look away. He feels weak and sick, knees close to buckling. “Hargreeves… can you see me?”_ _

__Klaus turns. He can’t talk to Rivers here in front of so many people. Dave grabs the back of his neck, pulling his head down to rest on Dave’s shoulder—the most affection Klaus has openly been given in a long, long time. Klaus uses the cover to scrub the tears off his face. Dave hushes him, fingers curling into the hair at the base of Klaus’ neck. This is acceptable now; everyone knows the three of them had been friends. It’s only right that they’re allowed to grieve._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Dave whispers, but Klaus doesn’t know what he’s apologizing about. Dave’s hand comes up, brushing a tear off Klaus’ cheek. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__Klaus bites his lip, half afraid that if he talks, too many words will come out, and equally as scared that he won’t have anything to say at all. Rivers is lurking behind him, rasping._ _

__“Hargreeves. Klaus, talk to me. Can you see me?”_ _

__Every time he talks, Klaus’ shoulders hunch a little higher up. Dave tugs him away from the body and Klaus lets himself be led. He makes it about three steps before his right leg buckles, dumping him unceremoniously into the grass. Dave is at his side in an instant, hands hovering over Klaus. “What’s wrong?”_ _

__Klaus sits up, twisting around to stare at the leg that’s now burning, hot and sticky with the sensation of blood. Klaus grips his thigh and the pain intensifies to an almost unbearable level. His hand comes away shiny with blood. How had he not noticed before? Lightheadedness hits him and Klaus sways, leaning into the curve of Dave’s shoulder. Next to him, Dave shudders, then clamps his own hand down over Klaus’ thigh and shouts, “Medic!”_ _

__Klaus groans, pain lancing through his leg. He pries weakly at Dave’s fingers, trying to get a look at the wound. Blood seeps up between his fingers as Dave adjusts his grip and says, “Don’t do that. Just relax, it’ll be alright.”_ _

__“You sound pretty confident about that,” Klaus wheezes as the medic hurries over. He feels woozy, but if it’s from blood loss or the shock of Rivers dying, he isn’t sure. Vaguely, Klaus is aware of the medic removing Dave’s hands and tying a tourniquet around Klaus’ thigh. He barks something about taking Klaus to the jeep and then arms are sliding under his knees and around his shoulders, hefting him up._ _

__Pain spikes through his leg, settling into a deep burning at the bone. “Son of a bitch!” Klaus shouts, fingers clenching in Dave’s shirt. His first instinct is to writhe out of Dave’s arms, but Dave grips him tighter. Tears prick the corners of his eyes as Dave walks, another wave of pain washing over him with every step. “You asshole! Let me go!”_ _

__“No,” Dave says quietly. “Would you rather walk?”_ _

__“Fuck you,” Klaus snaps. He doesn’t mean it, but the swearing makes him feel better. The medic is leading the way in front of them, making sure the path is clear. It’s slow going._ _

__Dave lets Klaus curse him out until he lets out a shaky breath, exhausted. Klaus lets his head sag against Dave’s chest. “Stay awake for me, huh?” Dave murmurs._ _

__“Don’t think I have a say in the matter if I pass out or not,” Klaus rasps. Rivers and Klaus’ entourage of ghosts lurch along behind, all talking over each other. Klaus’ head is pounding and he feels dizzy as he buries his face against Dave’s shoulder._ _

__Dave chuckles, but he sounds strained. His hands are tight where he’s gripping Klaus, and Klaus can feel the rapid beating of Dave’s heart. “See, if you’re fine enough to make jokes, you’re fine enough to stay awake.”_ _

__“We’ll see,” Klaus says, biting back a wince as Dave sets him in the back of the jeep. Despite the hasty tourniquet, his pant leg is dark with blood. Klaus can feel it dripping down his leg, soaking into his boots. Dave hovers anxiously nearby as the field medic cuts a slash down Klaus’ pants to get a look at the wound._ _

__It’s a good four inches long, jagged and messy. Even with the tourniquet, blood swells up from the cut. Klaus has seen worse; a brother that threw knives would desensitize someone to wounds like this, but it’s another thing entirely to see the damage on your own body._ _

__“Be gentle with me,” Klaus says as the medic prods at the jagged flesh. It zings, sending a bolt of pain deep into Klaus’ bone. Klaus’ smile freezes on his face even as tears of pain spring to his eyes. _“Gentle!”__ _

__“There’s some shrapnel in there,” the medic says dryly, sounding more like he’s giving a diagnosis of ‘papercut’. Dave makes a dismayed noise from where he’s trying not to loom. “Didn’t hit the artery, but I’m not going to pull it out here. We’ll have to wait until you’re back at camp.”_ _

__Klaus lets out a measured breath. “I love having open wounds,” he says. He’s running his mouth, talking nonsense through the pain as the medic wraps a thick pad of gauze around Klaus’ thigh. “They say fresh air is the best medicine. Rub some dirt in it, right?”_ _

__The medic glances up at him. “Do you ever stop talking?”_ _

__Klaus offers a shaky grin. “Only when I’ve got something in my mouth.”_ _

__The medic rolls his eyes and straightens. Producing a baggie from one of his numerous pockets, he tosses it at Klaus. “Take those,” he says as Klaus’ fingers curl around the pills. “They’ll help with the pain.” He moves off without another word, towards the soldiers who are bundling Rivers’ body up in a tarp._ _

__Klaus, shaking and sweating with the abrupt adrenaline crash, with the prospect of a decent high quite literally in the palm of his hand, looks up at Dave. Dave’s face softens as he takes a step forward, placing his hand on Klaus’ uninjured knee. Klaus watches as he seems to deflate, shoulders sagging as he lets out a breath. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Dave whispers, eyes closing._ _

__Klaus reaches out to curl his fingers with Dave’s hand, squeezing them. Maybe he isn’t forgiven yet, but their argument feels so small, now. “I’m in one piece, at least,” Klaus says. He looks at the form of Rivers standing over Dave’s shoulder, staring at them. Klaus isn’t speaking to Dave when he says, “More than can be said for Rivers.”_ _

__Rivers’ eyes widen. “What the hell,” he says._ _

__Dave shakes his head. His hands are trembling as he presses them against the cage of the jeep. “Klaus,” he rasps. “You have no idea how terrified I was when I thought the mine had gotten you, too. It was like every worst case scenario come to life.” His voice catches and Dave looks down. “I couldn’t stand the thought that the last things I said to you were an argument.”_ _

__Klaus reaches out to touch him and thinks better of it, fingers curling in the bloody part of his pants. “Dave,” he says softly. Klaus can’t say how much he wants to do this right now, but this isn’t the time or place. “You don’t have to do this right now.”_ _

__“No,” Dave says. “I want to. I’ve waited too long to do it already.”_ _

__Klaus nods towards the soldiers nearby. None of them are looking at them, but it’s broad daylight and neither of them are exactly hidden. Not to mention that his hands are shaking and his adrenaline is crashing hard. “Breaking your own rules, Davey.”_ _

__“It’s a stupid fucking rule anyway,” Dave says. He sidles closer, blocking Klaus from the view of the other men and takes Klaus’ hand, stroking his thumb across Klaus’ knuckles._ _

__Rivers is still watching them, so Klaus interrupts whatever it is that Dave is about to say. “Dave, seriously, you don’t have to say this now. We’ll talk back at camp. Cross my heart.” Klaus makes an X over his chest to emphasize and Dave smiles for his sake._ _

__Bringing Klaus’ hand up to his lips, he kisses Klaus’ fingers. Klaus’ breath hitches, stopping entirely when Dave reaches out to brush dirt off Klaus’ cheek with his thumb. “Take your pills,” Dave says quietly. “They’ll help with the pain.”_ _

__Klaus watches Dave walk until he’s out of earshot. He doesn’t want to have this conversation right now, but Rivers deserves to know. “Alright,” Klaus says, letting out a long breath. His heart is still hammering inside his chest, hands trembling as he shakes a pill out into his palm and tosses it back, not even bothering with his canteen. To Rivers, he says, “You’ve got five minutes before I these pills kick in and I get blitzed for the next three hours. If you have any desperate last requests, act now.”_ _

__“What the _fuck,”_ is the first thing that comes out of Rivers’ mouth. Klaus winces at the sound of his gravelly voice. “How?” _ _

__“Good question. Next.”_ _

__“Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Rivers asks._ _

__Klaus turns to fully meet his gaze. It isn't easy. Klaus has never had to look a friend in the eye, knowing they're dead. Even with Ben - Ben looks _normal_. Rivers is... very dead. Uncharacteristically serious, he says, “Would you have believed me?” _ _

__Rivers shifts on bloody feet. “I dunno,” he says, shrugging. “Maybe?”_ _

__“The correct answer is _no,_ ” Klaus says. “I tried to tell Dave once. He thought I was talking about flashbacks. No way you wouldn’t have just thought I was tripping.” _ _

__“Okay, maybe,” Rivers says defensively. “But can you blame us? This is fucked up!”_ _

__“You’re preaching to the choir, bud.” Klaus shrugs. He rips a strip of fabric off the hem of his shirt, wadding it up to press against the blood dripping from his ear. It isn’t sanitary by any means, but Klaus has bigger worries. “I’m used to it, trust me.”_ _

__Rivers gestures at all the ghosts surrounding them. “Is this why you’re always so doped up?”_ _

__“It was at first, but after age nineteen I figured the hangover alone would kill me, so I just kept using.”_ _

__“Bullshit,” Rivers says. He laughs incredulously. “You’re a psychic junkie. Holy shit, you sound like something out of a comic book.”_ _

__Klaus grimaces. “One, not a psychic. I don’t have any hoodoo-voodoo magic powers and two, you’re not far off.”_ _

__“What else is up with you, huh?” Rivers asks._ _

__“What do you mean?”_ _

__“Like, are all your bullshit stories true, too? About traveling the world, your billionaire dad, all the shit you got into as kids?” Rivers sounds excited, like he’s thinking about a cool comic book character and not the reality of Klaus’ own personal hell._ _

__“Every fucking word I ever said was true.” Klaus tilts his head. “With some embellishment. It’s not my fault you never took me seriously.”_ _

__Rivers opens his mouth to reply when the pills kick in and his visage flickers, fading away piece by piece. The silence leaves Klaus’ ears ringing. He groans, stretching back in the back seat as sensation bleeds out of him. He’s so missed the sensation of utter bliss that follows the pills. Not even the crazy strong weed cut with weird shit does for him what the pills do. It’s been months since Klaus felt well and truly alone._ _

__“I know you’ll have questions,” Klaus says to the air. “But I reserve the right not to answer them until we’re back at camp.”_ _

__“Who’re you talking to, Hargreeves?”_ _

__Klaus looks up at the approaching soldiers, carrying Rivers’ bloody body with them. Dave is with them, giving Klaus a worried look. “The only person worthy of my company, of course,” Klaus says easily. “Myself.”_ _

__The soldiers roll their eyes. Some of them chuckle, but it’s a hollow noise. Klaus slides out of the vehicle so the soldiers can gently place Rivers’ body inside. They don’t always have the opportunity to take the bodies back with them, so everyone is always grateful when they can. Not that Rivers looks good enough to get an open casket funeral, but at least his family will be able to bury more than an empty coffin._ _

__Klaus isn’t looking forward to walking miles back to camp on a wounded limb, but neither does he want to sit in the back of the jeep with Rivers’ bloody corpse. He’s just stubborn enough to try walking when Dave shoots him a look that Klaus interprets to mean, _Under no circumstances will you step one foot on that injured leg, so help me God._ So Klaus rides in the jeep. _ _

__It’s slow going. Even with the drugs in his system dulling the pain, the jeep seems to hit every single bump in the road. Klaus grits his teeth after every one, determined not to complain. It probably doesn’t help that he’s sitting on the edge of the jeep, as far away as he can get from the body. The rough ride jostles Rivers’ burned hand free of the tarp it’s wrapped in. Klaus nearly has to lean out the back to throw up. He ends up taking another pill earlier than he should. It’s enough to lay him out for a few long hours._ _

__The sun is setting when they roll into camp once again, having encountered no further trouble. Dave helps Klaus out of the jeep and takes him immediately to the ward tent, two other soldiers carrying Rivers’ body between them close behind. Watson looks less than thrilled to see Dave dragging Klaus through the entrance, but he nods towards an empty bed anyway. Dave doesn’t manage more than a reassuring squeeze of the hand before he has to disappear and report to Flores._ _

__The two soldiers carrying Rivers’ body drop it on another empty cot. A nurse quickly yanks a curtain around the body, hiding it from view of the other living patients._ _

__“Hey,” Klaus drawls to Doc Watson as he cuts the bloody bandage off Klaus’ thigh. “You miss me?”_ _

__“No more than I miss any other junkie that steals from my things.”_ _

__“Water under the bridge,” Klaus says easily. A glance at the wound makes Klaus’ stomach flip, so he turns his head to the ceiling. Watson prods at Klaus’ leg without much warning and Klaus yelps, grabbing for Doc’s hand on reflex. “This the bedside manner you use for all your patients?”_ _

__“Only my favorites. You’ll live.” Watson spins around towards a cart laden with medical materials. Klaus watches his hands._ _

__“What is that? Ketamine?” Klaus asks as Doc prepares a syringe. “I haven’t had good ketamine since I was a teenager.”_ _

__“Well, you’re a lucky bastard, then,” Doc says, wiping blood off Klaus’ thigh and injecting him. It makes Klaus grit his teeth, but he stays grinning. “You’re getting exactly what you wanted.”_ _

__“Not usually my ride of choice, but,” Klaus spreads his hands, waiting for the dizziness to hit him. He very much doesn’t look at the tools being set out on Watson’s cart. “Life’s good to me that way.”_ _

__“If it weren’t for the circumstances, I’d be inclined to believe you.”_ _

__“Are you kidding?” Klaus asks. The drugs kick in and Klaus’ world begins to spin out of focus. Just before he fades away, Klaus says, “This place is great.”_ _

____

\---

Klaus wakes up in the ward tent what he imagines to be hours later, feeling simultaneously better and worse than he has since they returned from leave. An unpleasant buzz is rattling the inside of his skull and there’s a really shitty taste in his mouth, but Klaus’ leg isn’t killing him anymore and he feels marginally cleaner than he has in a long time.

His cot in the ward tent is separated on all sides by a thin curtain in order to give the patients at least a little privacy. It’s dark outside; the cicadas are screaming loud enough to be heard even as far away from the jungle as they are. Yellow lamplight floods in under the curtain. Klaus can see figures in the next beds breathing softly, but neither Watson nor the nurses are moving around. Remarkably trusting of him to leave Klaus alone in here with no supervision. Then again, he isn’t exactly spry. 

Though his tattered greens have been replaced, Klaus can feel a thick bandage wrapped around his thigh. Stitches pull at his skin when he flexes his foot against the cot. His legs still feel a little numb, so at least he doesn’t have to fight off any pain. 

It’s eerily quiet inside the ward tent. Beyond the tonal hum of the cicadas and the faint murmur of voices outside, there’s very little noise. The drugs in his system should be worn off enough that ghosts should at least be shadowy outlines, if not whispered voices, but Klaus doesn’t see or hear any of them. 

Klaus twists around. Dave is sitting slumped in a stool just off to the side, chin propped in his hand. He’s breathing softly, hair hanging in front of his eyes. Not unsupervised after all, but the sight of him still makes Klaus smile. Guilt worms its way into Klaus’ heart. They’d talked a little after Rivers died, but it was nothing substantial. Honestly, it was more than Klaus expected to find Dave watching over him. 

A zing of pain fights its way through the haze of drugs still making Klaus’ limbs feel heavy as he wriggles up into a sitting position, but he ignores it, leaning over to Dave’s sitting figure. “Hey,” Klaus hisses, reaching out to graze his knee. 

Dave jumps, elbow slipping off his knee, head dropping against his chest. He snaps up, tired eyes brightening at the sight of Klaus. “Oh,” he says, slipping off his stool to come kneel at Klaus’ bedside. Close up, Klaus can spot a red bruise around Dave’s right eye that hadn’t been there when he left Klaus earlier. 

Before Klaus can ask, Dave puts his hand in Klaus’ hair and pulls him forward just enough so that Dave can kiss him. It’s soft, hesitant, filled with so much emotion that Klaus is overwhelmed. He kisses Dave back, eyes squeezing shut to stop any tears that might threaten to escape. When he pulls away, Klaus buries his face in Dave’s shoulder. It’s an awkward hold that makes Klaus’ back hurt, but he doesn’t care. He just never wants Dave to stop holding him. 

Dave has never been so free with affection like that, especially when someone could walk in on them at any moment - but his hand is still buried in Klaus’ hair, lips moving near soundlessly against Klaus’ temple as he murmurs sweet nothings. 

When he feels a little less smothered by emotion, Klaus moves to pull away. Dave lets him go with some reluctance. Klaus grabs onto his hand, lacing their fingers. “How do you feel?” Dave asks. 

“Like shit,” Klaus rasps. He touches Dave’s cheek just below the bruise ringing his eye. “What happened to your face?” 

“Ah.” Dave touches the darkening bruise, looking chagrined. “Chaz punched me. When I told him about Rivers.” 

Klaus makes a noise, looking down. Rivers isn’t in the room. Klaus doesn’t know if it’s because he’s still a little too high to see him, or if Rivers found someone else to shadow. Dave continues talking. “You’ve been asleep for a while,” he says. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

“Then I’m not the only one who should be sleeping,” Klaus says, eyeing Dave. “Why are you here?”

“I told Doc I’d keep an eye on you,” Dave says quietly. He strokes a soothing line across Klaus’ knuckles. “Make sure you didn’t cause any trouble or die in your sleep.” 

“That’s always a pain in the ass,” Klaus agrees, forcing some humor into his voice. 

Dave smiles. He looks tired. “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

“Yeah.” Klaus blinks, glancing away. 

Dave’s hand stills in his hair. “Is something wrong?” 

Klaus presses his lips together. He’s still a little loopy from the drugs, not to mention exhausted, so he’s at the point of not caring when he asks, “Are you not mad at me?” 

“Oh, Klaus,” Dave says gently, and just that makes Klaus want to cry. “No, I’m not mad. Maybe I was, but not anymore.” 

“Why?” Klaus asks, bewildered. 

“Why should I be?” Dave asks. “We both said hurtful things. I should be asking if you’re mad at me.” Klaus makes a noise and Dave squeezes his hand. He bites his lip, a split second of indecision flickering across his face. When he does speak, his voice is quiet, but it isn’t because he’s afraid of being overheard. If anything, he sounds hesitant.

“Couples fight.” Klaus bites the inside of his cheek at the way Dave says _couples._ They're a couple. “Being with someone isn’t always easy. It takes work. I mean, my parents have been married almost forty years and they still have their disagreements.” 

“Well I never really had role models like that,” Klaus says, thinking about his ever-smiling mother and Reginald, who’d never said an encouraging word in his life. He hitches a shoulder. “My longest relationship was three weeks, and that’s just because I wanted a bed to sleep in at night.” 

“I don’t have much room to talk,” Dave says softly. “I’ve never had a real relationship, either.” 

“But you’re so well adjusted!” Klaus protests. He gestures at himself. “Look at me; I’m a mess. Nobody would be with me unless they were out of options.” 

“That isn’t true,” Dave says. “Klaus, I said to you before that I‘m not just along for the ride. I still mean that.” He leans away, scraping his hair back along his head like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “You were right,” he says. “I _was_ afraid, and I was stupid. I didn’t realize how much you meant to me until I thought I lost you today.” 

“That’s dramatic.” 

Dave levels him with a look. Klaus lifts his hands, flashing a smile and gesturing for Dave to continue. “I really don’t want to waste my chance with you,” Dave says. “And I’m sorry for what I said. I did break my promise to you. I said I would be there for you when you needed me, and I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not used to people wanting to stick around,” Klaus says, his throat feeling tight. 

“Better get used to me,” Dave says. 

Klaus reaches out to grab Dave’s wrist and pull him close, burying his face in Dave’s shoulder only partly to hide the the fact that his eyes are wet. Dave runs a hand up Klaus’ back, holding on to him just as tight. “Look at us,” Klaus laughs, voice still sounding a little choked. “Being well adjusted adults. Never thought I had it in me!” 

Klaus feels Dave smile from where his lips are pressed against against Klaus’ temple. He doesn’t pull away until Klaus shifts and even then, he kisses Klaus’ cheek before withdrawing. “For future reference,” he says. “Figuring it out is complete bullshit. Maybe we could talk it out next time.” 

“You’re going to have to be patient with me,” Klaus says, teasingly, but with a grain of truth hidden in the words. “I don’t know how to do this.” 

“Then it’s a learning experience for the both of us.” Dave squeezes Klaus’ hand, smiling gently. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says, straightening. “Goodnight.” 

Klaus catches his wrist before he can leave and tugs him back over, insistent. Dave bends down to kiss him swiftly. It isn’t overly passionate and it doesn’t last very long, but Klaus is still smiling like an idiot when Dave stands back up. “Goodnight,” he says again, a little more firmly. The smile stuck on his face betrays his tone. 

Klaus sits back, satisfied. “Goodnight,” he says. Dave lingers for a moment, shooting him one last longing look before he slips out of the curtain and disappears. He lies back, hands folded under his head, and closes his eyes. Klaus is still smiling. 

“You know, I always thought Dave was kind of straightlaced. I mean, everyone knows _you’re_ a fairy, but Katz?” 

Klaus doesn’t jump, but his eyes do snap open, smile disappearing. Rivers is lurking in a dark corner, form hazy. Klaus thinks he’s grinning, but it’s hard to tell with the way his face is torn up. He sighs, eyes falling back closed. This day needs to end already. “What do you want?” 

“Always the ones you least expect, right?” 

“Rivers.” 

“What?” Rivers asks, sounding defensive even though the amusement is clear in his voice. Klaus hears him come closer and the staggering sound of his footsteps makes Klaus wince. “It’s not like I didn’t know you were hot for Katz. I have _eyes._ Or uh, had them, anyway. I’m more metaphysical now.” 

“Yes, everyone knows I’m an obvious queer.” Klaus waves a hand in a shooing motion. Months without Ben’s constant presence had made him forget how fucking _annoying_ it could get to have a ghostly companion. At least Rivers isn’t criticizing his life choices. “Can you go away now? We need sleep too.” 

“Being dead is so boring, though.” 

Rivers’ voice sounds closer. When Klaus opens his eyes, he finds Rivers sitting in the stool Dave had occupied a few minutes ago. Klaus’ first reaction is to jerk away from the gory sight, but he’s used to nasty spirits. He wouldn’t want to give Rivers the satisfaction, anyway. “You’re taking being dead kind of concerningly well,” Klaus says. “Most spirits I meet are… Well. You’ve met the people we work with.” 

Rivers laughs. “No kidding. You know Johnson stuck around?” 

“Jesus,” Klaus sighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against his eyes. “Yes. You should’ve heard the earful I got from him the first time he caught me with my hands down Dave’s pants. And that’s the other thing—” Klaus turns towards Rivers, then gestures at himself. “You’re taking _this_ concerningly well, too.” 

“Like I said, I already knew.” At Klaus’ blank look, Rivers says, “You remember the second to last night in Saigon? Before we got tattoos?” 

“I remember _very little_ about what happened in Saigon outside my hotel room,” Klaus says. 

“Okay one, gross.” Rivers holds up the hand that still has all its fingers. “Two—there was one point where you got absolutely _shitfaced,_ declared your love for Dave and your intentions to marry him, then threw up on my shoes and passed out.” 

“Okay, hold on,” Klaus protests. “That doesn’t sound like me at _all._ I can hold my liquor better than that.” 

Rivers shrugs. “Wild weekend. Anyway. We were fighting a war. There seemed like bigger fish to fry than the fact that you liked it up the ass. Also, I’m _dead_ now, so I don’t really care.” 

“That’s… nice of you,” Klaus says warily. 

“It’s not like death made me an altruist or anything,” Rivers says. “I’m going to keep giving you shit.” 

Klaus lets himself laugh, closing his eyes. “Wouldn’t expect anything else, man.” he says. “As long as you don’t creep on me and Dave.” 

“No fucking problem,” Rivers says. “Some things are better left to the imagination.” 

“ _Goodnight,_ Rivers,” Klaus says. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Night.” 

Rivers’ presence vanishes. Klaus lets out a breath and takes a moment just to enjoy the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im literally just going to stop talking about chapter length in the notes, because we all know how well that works for me. Thanks again for bob_fish for doing the research i was totally just winging, and just being an awesome beta in general. She has her own fic, Out Of the Woods, which you should absolutely go check out.


	8. Month Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so... i didn't really plan on this taking over a month to complete. i just struggled a lot with this chapter. Hope you're all still with me and excited! 
> 
> huge thanks to bob_fish, because would not be finished without her. if you're a fan of suspense and ensemble cast drama, i hugely recommend her TUA fic, Out of the Woods.
> 
> this chapter is very emotionally horny. and also just regularly horny. dont say i didn't warn you.

Klaus doesn’t get to leave the ward tent for another two days after that. He has never been so bored in his entire _life._ Not even when he broke his jaw and couldn’t talk for eight weeks was worse than this. Eight hours into his forced bedrest, Klaus has already counted all the cracks in the ceiling. He might just be bored enough to ask Dave to bring him a book that isn’t one of Rivers’ comics or a sticky magazine pilfered from the bottom of some poor soldier’s footlocker. 

It’s not like the ward tent is a hubbub of social activity, either. Klaus is probably the most mobile one out of all the patients, and he can’t even make it to the door without stumbling. Besides, it’s a bit of a downer trying to talk to the other soldiers, most of whom are either bedridden or hurt too badly to stay in camp. 

Chaz and Andrews come in to visit the day after, and that alleviates some of Klaus’ boredom for a little while. Chaz is angry; it’s actually Andrews that does most of the talking. Apparently, Rivers was a bit too good at hiding his things and no one knows where he put all his letters. Nobody wants to send the body home without his things first, but they will if they have to. 

Klaus never mentions the ghost of Rivers poking around, making idle commentary and being an altogether nuisance. Klaus can’t even _talk_ to Rivers during the day without risking bizarre looks from other people. At least Rivers is understanding. 

Before they go, Klaus catches Chaz by the arm. “Dave has a pretty decent shiner, don’t you think?” he asks pointedly. 

Chaz looks bitter, but doesn’t deny it. “It was his fucking fault, Hargreeves,” he says, yanking his arm out of Klaus’ grip. “He was the officer in command of that patrol.” 

“Bullshit,” Klaus says. “You just want someone to blame.” Chaz doesn’t respond and Klaus lets him go. 

Dave visits every night. For the first little bit, he seems tentative, like he’s still afraid of pushing Klaus’ buttons, but they’ve gotten over the worst of it. Whatever it is between them is stronger. Dave’s still a bit jumpy, but it’s far easier to coax him into a kiss than it was before. Klaus even manages to get him into his bed one evening, thin curtains offering them as much protection as they can. 

“This is such a bad idea,” Dave says, shifting Klaus to the side so he can settle in beside him, mindful of his injured leg. The cot creaks dangerously and Klaus stifles a grin. “It’s going to dump both our asses on the floor, and you’re gonna spend all day complaining about your leg.” 

“Worth it,” Klaus says, pressing into Dave’s side as Dave pulls an arm around his shoulders. No way will Dave get handsy with Klaus still injured. He’s a gentleman, hands kept respectfully above the belt. “Besides, it’s not like you objected too much.” 

“I can’t say no to you,” Dave says. “Not with those eyes.” 

“Oh, I thought it was just because you liked me,” Klaus says flippantly, making a show of turning up his nose. 

Dave chuckles, leaning in. “That, too.” 

Klaus lets Dave pull his chin back around and press a gentle kiss against his lips. He sighs into it, releasing the tension he didn’t even know he was holding. They kiss for a long time, stopping only when Klaus tries to swing his leg over Dave’s hips and has to bite back a yell of pain. He buries his face in Dave’s shoulder and groans, hand clenching in Dave’s shirt. After a moment, the spike of pain dulls into an aching throb. Klaus lets out a breath. 

“You alright?” Dave murmurs, stroking his hand through Klaus’ hair. 

Voice muffled, Klaus says, “Listen, if we want to do it we’ll have to get creative, because _no way_ am I moving my legs around.” 

Dave stifles a laugh, hiding his grin in Klaus’ hair. “You’re clever,” he says. “You’ll think of something.” 

Klaus lifts his head to kiss Dave. “God willing!” he proclaims, and Dave laughs again. Klaus tucks his head against Dave’s chest again, content to lie there until Dave has to leave. 

Dave amuses himself by playing with Klaus’ hair, which would be enough alone to knock Klaus out, but then Dave says quietly, “The boys are thinking about having a wake for Rivers.” 

Klaus’ eyes open. “Oh.” 

“The roads are shit right now, so there’s no telling when they’ll be able to send his body or effects home, though.” 

Rivers, as promised, isn’t in the room. That’s good, because Klaus would go crazy trying to ignore him during this conversation. He straightens enough to look Dave in the eye. “When?” 

Dave shrugs. “Tomorrow, probably.” 

“I want to go.” 

“But your leg,” Dave protests. 

“I’m going,” Klaus says firmly. “I don’t care if you have to sneak me out of the ward tent or if I have to limp there myself. He was my friend, too.” 

“Before you take drastic measures,” Dave says, cupping Klaus’ jaw, “let me talk to Doc. I’ll help you get there, promise.” 

“Okay,” Klaus says. 

Dave leans forward to kiss him one more time before moving to get out of the cot. “I’ve gotta go,” he says apologetically. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“See you in the morning,” Klaus says. Dave lingers a few moments longer because he can never leave Klaus without kissing him goodbye more than once. It’s like he’s making up for every missed opportunity. Eventually, Klaus pats Dave on the cheek and lets him slip away with a murmured goodnight. 

Klaus curls up on his side and tries to catch a few fitful hours of sleep through the rain drumming on the thin roof of the ward tent. Rivers usually doesn’t wait long to make an appearance after Dave leaves, so Klaus isn’t surprised to watch his shadow slip across the floor. 

“I can get your stuff for you, you know,” Klaus says. “If you want it sent home.” 

“Nah.” Rivers keeps close to the edges of the room, which Klaus is grateful for. He can handle Rivers’ messed up face, but not before he’s about to sleep. “I don’t really want the guys to see all the letters my mom sent from home. Plus, there are a couple drawings that I don’t want my mom to get her hands on. She thinks I’m a saint, you know.” 

“Thought, you mean.” 

Rivers shrugs. “I don’t know if she knows I’m dead yet. I’m like Schrödinger's boy.” 

Klaus rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re very cavalier about your own mortality. I’d be concerned, but it would just be hypocritical coming from me. But the offer stands, Rivers. If you ever want me to get those letters, I’ll do it.” 

“Sure,” Rivers says, but he doesn’t sound like he’ll take Klaus up on it anytime soon, or ever. “Just promise you’ll get those drawings out if I do.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Klaus promises, holding up his right hand. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you lie to your mother?” 

“Don’t say it like that,” Rivers says. “You make me sound terrible.” 

“Well…”

“Enough!” Rivers huffs, crossing his arms. “Go to bed! You won’t be a very good accomplice if you’re limping around all over the place.” 

Klaus raises his hands in surrender and lies down. After a moment, Rivers’ presence disappears. Klaus doesn’t really mind having Rivers around all that much. He’s a lot like Ben, if Klaus is honest—if Ben were a Hispanic kid who laughs too hard at his own jokes, anyway. His commentary can get a little old though, especially when Klaus is in the company of other people. If Klaus thought it was hard trying to talk to Ben when people who knew he saw the dead were around, it’s doubly hard to say anything to Rivers without getting bizarre looks from other people.

He’s already had to watch his mouth and blame the drugs on hallucinations after a conversation with Rivers got too loud. Klaus suspects Rivers does something to keep the other ghosts away when Klaus is sober enough to see them—not that they really want to be around Klaus anyway. They seem to have finally learned their lesson after a few too many ill-timed interruptions. They wouldn’t have had to if they’d learned not to be nosy in the first place, but what can you do? 

Rivers, for his part, seems excited about the prospect of his own funeral. It’s really all he talks about for the next couple of days. They don’t have the wake the day after Dave had told Klaus about it; what feels like half their company is shipped out on another patrol and doesn’t come back for three days, Dave included. It drives Klaus crazy until Rivers agrees to keep an eye on him. Dave comes back safe and sound, for the most part. Klaus would kiss Rivers if he could.

Rivers seems to think he can use Klaus as his own personal mouthpiece when it comes to what he wants for his memorial. “I always kind of wanted to plan my own death,” he says. “Make sure it’s perfect, you know? I really want one of those fuck-off big angel statues as my headstone.” 

“They’re probably going to bury you at Arlington,” Klaus mutters, only half paying attention to the book he’s flipping through. It isn’t interesting in the slightest, but he has nothing better to do than clean his gun—which, unfortunately, isn’t a euphemism—and stare at the ceiling. Dave isn’t around to entertain him, and it’s early enough in the day that people will definitely notice Klaus talking to himself. 

“Ugh, think you can convince them not to? I don’t want to get buried so far away from home.” Rivers glances up from where he’s lounging on a bench and nods. “Incoming.” 

Klaus turns, brightening when he sees Dave heading towards him. “Dave!” he calls, tossing the book over his shoulder and sitting up. The book sails through Rivers’ nonexistent chest and he grumbles. Dave flashes a smile, but he looks subdued. “What brings you here on this fine afternoon?” 

“The wake,” is all he says. 

Klaus’ humor flees him. “Oh,” he says, then shakes himself and tries to pull it together. He sits up, reaching out to brace himself on a cart next to the cot. It rolls away from his grip, tray slipping off the surface and sending tools scattering to the floor. 

“Klaus!” Dave protests, reaching out like he can’t decide whether or not he wants to help Klaus to his feet or push him back to the bed. “You aren’t supposed to be walking yet!” 

“I said I was going,” Klaus says, grabbing onto Dave’s hand so he can pull himself to his feet. 

“For God’s sake,” Dave sighs, giving in and wrapping Klaus’ arm around his shoulder. Klaus’ leg twinges as he gets to his feet. “Alright, let’s be fast. In and out before anyone notices.” 

Someone coughs behind them. Both Klaus and Dave flinch. Straining to look around Dave’s shoulder, Klaus meets Doc’s eye. Flashing a smile, Klaus tries, “This isn’t what it looks like?” 

Dave looks up at the ceiling, sighing something out as he turns them around. “What does it look like?” Doc asks. “Because to me, it looks like you’re trying to leave.” 

“It was my fault,” Dave says. “I encouraged him—” 

“Hey!”

“—I’ll take full responsibility.” 

“I imagine you will, Sergeant,” Doc says. Dave’s fingers tighten their grip on Klaus’ waist. Doc looks between the two of them. “Is this about the wake for Private Rivers?” 

“Yes,” Klaus says, dropping the act for a brief second. A mild look of surprise flickers across Doc’s face. “I was there when he died. I’m going.” 

Doc’s eyebrows raise slightly. He crosses his arms, shrugging. “Listen, I am fully aware that you will go whether I say you can or not, but for the record, I _highly_ advise against it.” Doc eyes the two of them, eyes lingering on Klaus. 

“I promise I’ll have him back in no time,” Dave says, like he’s some respectable boyfriend taking Klaus out for prom. Klaus has to stifle a grin. 

“I’m not his father, Sergeant,” Doc says. Dave’s face reddens. To Klaus, he says, “If you rip your stitches out, you can have a damn fine time putting them back in yourself, you hear?” 

Klaus salutes lazily, characteristic attitude back in place. “Yes, sir.” 

Doc rolls his eyes. Motioning his head towards the door, he says, “Get out of here before I change my mind.” 

Turning, Dave helps Klaus limp out of the ward tent. The air is humid and hardly refreshing, but it feels so much better than the sickly atmosphere inside. Klaus grits his teeth with every step. Dave keeps shooting him nervous glances as they slowly make their way across camp. It’s later, sun nearing the horizon, but activity around camp never ceases. The air smells like rain. 

“How are you doing?” Dave asks when they pause to let a platoon pass by.

“I’ve had worse,” Klaus says, which isn’t a lie. He adjusts his grip around Dave’s shoulders, fingers tugging on the material of his shirt. 

Dave hooks his fingers in Klaus’ belt loops and begins to walk again. “When on earth?” he asks softly. 

“Oh baby,” Klaus sighs. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

It takes about five minutes of agonizing walking to get to the tent in a trip that would normally take Klaus two. By the time the tent comes into view, Klaus is dizzy with pain and can feel his bandages wetting with blood. Hopefully the stitches haven’t opened. They’re the last to arrive, which makes sense. As soon as they stop, Klaus sags into Dave’s side and closes his eyes. The hand on the small of Klaus’ back rubs soothing circles into his skin. No one really notices if Klaus leans a little more into Dave’s side than he really needs to; Klaus has a decent excuse. He doesn’t want to catch hell for ripping his stitches, anyway.

Wakes aren’t uncommon in their company. Rarely does everyone participate, but Rivers’ friends hadn’t just consisted of the four of them. They had just been the closest out of everyone. It’s a decent sized gathering, maybe about ten people. Most of them are dotted around the inside, nursing cups of whiskey. A couple people look surprised to see him, but they don't say anything. No one seems to be willing to be the first one to break the silence. 

Chaz’s arms are crossed and he’s glaring a hole into the ground at his feet. Klaus is already nauseous, and it isn’t helped by Rivers lurching around, giving commentary on who showed up. 

“Aw, jeez, Frankie, you came? You still owe me ten bucks, little freeloader. Klaus, tell this guy to fork it over.” 

Klaus hisses at him. Dave glances down, worry on his face. “You alright?” he asks softly. “Your leg hurting you?” 

“It’s fine,” Klaus says. He wants to kiss Dave so bad right now, but he settles for a squeeze on the shoulder instead. 

“You should have taken some pills,” Dave says. “I can get them if you want.” 

“Stop being a mother hen,” Klaus says, rubbing his thumb across the sliver of Dave’s collarbone he can reach. “I’ll be fine for ten minutes.” 

He’d promised Rivers anyway. He can manage through whatever meagre ceremony the company can scrape together. Still, Klaus doesn’t say no when someone presses a battered tin mug into his free hand. 

It’s Andrews that breaks the silence. “Does anyone want to say anything?” 

“He was a good kid,” Chaz says immediately. His eyes are fixed on the ground, arms tucked tight around his body. Rivers’ death had hit him hard—he’s still pissed at Dave, apparently, and Klaus knows Dave isn’t taking it well, either. Immediately following Rivers’ death, Klaus had seriously entertained the idea of telling Dave about his powers before determining that it wouldn’t do any good and would probably cause more problems than it fixed. 

Still, it’s hard to watch his friends mourn someone when Klaus knows he could make it better, at least for a little while. He looks down at his feet when Rivers tries to put one ghostly hand on Chaz’s shoulder. “He was too young. He was fucking twenty-two.” 

Dave’ eyes are fixed on his boots. Klaus can feel his hand clenching against his side. Klaus leans into him a little firmer. 

“Klaus,” Rivers says, suddenly at his side. Klaus has to stop himself from flinching and stares at the ground resolutely. His fingers curl tight into Dave’s shoulder. Dave glances at him. “You have to tell them it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine.” A grin breaks on Rivers’ lacerated face and he jokes, “Get it? Mine? ‘Cause I stepped on one?” 

“Jesus,” Klaus chokes out, turning his face heavenward. Everyone turns to look at him. Forcing humor into his voice, Klaus says, “You all know that he’d be making jokes if here were here. It feels wrong to honor him by being sad bastards.” 

Some of the tension bleeds out of the soldiers as Dave ducks his head, smiling a little. “He isn’t wrong,” he says. “Remember the time Flores was lecturing us and Klaus kept making faces behind his back? Rivers laughed so hard he almost threw up.” 

“Earned me three weeks of midnight watch, too,” Rivers says, arms crossing. 

“Or dropping a tarantula into Johnson’s boot,” the so-called Frankie says. “Think he got a black eye for that.”

That draws a laugh out of the men gathered. Even Chaz’s stony expression breaks for a smile. Klaus says, “Remember when we got drunk in Saigon and Rivers tried to swim in a fountain? Only barely avoided getting arrested.” 

“Cause he ran down the street away from the MPs,” Andrews laughs. “That kid never did anything by half measures.” 

“Including dying,” Klaus mutters to himself. “Blaze of glory, baby.” 

Chaz lifts his mug. “To Adrian Rivers,” he says. 

“To Adrian Rivers,” the men echo. The whiskey burns his throat unpleasantly as he drinks. 

Dave sets his aside, untouched. His arm tightens around Klaus’ waist; Klaus is grateful for the deception, even if his leg is killing him. He looks up at Dave, smile falling at the way Dave is staring at the ground, jaw clenched. Nudging Dave, Klaus suggests, “Let’s go,” because that’s what Dave wants to do, even though he’d never admit it.

Dave’s eyes soften. “Sure,” he says softly. Raising his voice, Dave adds, “Doc’s gonna give you hell if you rip out those stitches. We’ll get you back.” 

“Knight in shining armor,” Klaus bites out through the pain as they turn and limp away. He does mean it, but it has to be an act, at least until they’re alone. He’s half-aware of Rivers following them out through the tent; evidently, his own wake is a little too boring. Klaus shoots a vicious look in Rivers’ direction and Rivers raises his hands, turning away from Klaus and Dave. 

Klaus doesn’t actually say anything until they’re a good distance away from anyone, and even then he’s quiet. “You alright?” 

Dave looks far away, seeing something in the distance. He blinks when Klaus talks, refocusing on Klaus in front of him. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Sure.” 

Klaus digs his fingers into Dave’s shoulder. This isn’t a conversation he particularly wants to have around other people, so he limps forward until they’re around the corner of the ward tent, sheltered under a corner of the tarp. Reaching up to touch Dave’s face, Klaus says, “Hey, if I’m not allowed to deflect, you aren’t either.”

It takes Dave a moment to answer. When he does, his voice catches. “I just keep thinking about Rivers,” he says, leaning into Klaus’ hand. “I should’ve paid more attention.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Dave,” Klaus says, curling his fingers around the curve of Dave’s jaw. “It’s not like you knew it was there.” Not like Klaus should have, anyway. Blame is a dangerous thing to toy with. Klaus would rather he take on that burden than have Dave do it.

“It was my fault,” Dave protests. “I was in charge of that patrol. Even if I couldn’t have stopped it, it’s still on my head.” 

Klaus shakes his head. He wants so badly to tell Dave that Rivers doesn’t blame him, but the last time he’d tried to tell Dave about his powers hadn’t gone so well. “No,” Klaus says. “There was nothing you could have done to stop it from happening.” Klaus bites the inside of his cheek, then adds, “I don’t think he would blame you.” 

“You can keep saying that,” Dave says. “Not sure if I’ll ever manage to believe you.”

“Then I’ll say it as many times as I need to until you do.” Klaus glances around to make sure there’s no one looking and leans up to kiss Dave. Patting Dave’s cheek, he says, “Go get some sleep, okay?” 

He smiles for Klaus’ benefit. “Okay,” he says, reaching up to take Klaus’ hand. “You, too. Take your meds.” 

“Okay, mom,” Klaus teases. 

“Can you get in alright by yourself?” 

“Yeah.” Klaus nods his head away. Normally, he’d find the fussing oppressive, but he doesn’t mind so much from Dave. “I’ll be fine. Get.” 

Dave kisses his fingers. He seems reluctant to leave. Klaus wishes he could go with him, but he’d never be allowed. “Goodnight,” Dave says, pulling away. 

“Goodnight.” 

Klaus watches him walk away until he’s out of sight. Sighing, he leans back against a tent pole he hopes will hold his weight and sinks his hands into his hair, nails scratching over his scalp. 

“What’s gotten under his skin?” Rivers asks because he never knows when to leave well enough alone. 

Klaus groans, pushing away from the pole to limp inside. Rain is beginning to drip from the darkening sky and he doesn’t want to get caught outside. “He blames himself, and he shouldn’t.” 

“For what? You guys didn’t fight again, did you?” 

Klaus shoots him an incredulous look. “For your _death,_ Adrian. It really fucked him up.” 

“Oh,” Rivers says softly. In and of itself, not an entirely worrying word, but the way he says it gives Klaus pause. He turns around, hand braced on his good leg. Rivers is staring off into the middle distance, eyes wide. It’s a little hard to see past the blood and dirt streaked across his skin, but his expression makes Klaus draw back. 

“Rivers,” Klaus says softly. “Are you okay?” 

“It just hit me,” Rivers says. He isn’t looking at Klaus, but he drags his eyes down, raising his bloody hands to his face. Klaus is about to ask _what_ when he says, “That I’m dead. I’m … actually dead.”

“Uh oh,” Klaus says. 

Rivers puts one hand in his hair. “Oh my god,” he says. “With everything happening, with you and the war, and Dave—I—I _forgot._ Oh, Klaus, what about my family?” He turns to look at Klaus, eyes huge and terrified. He lunges out for Klaus, trying to grab his shoulders, and Klaus flinches back, leg buckling. A lance of pain shoots through his thigh and Klaus stumbles, leg giving out as he falls. 

Rivers doesn’t seem to notice, too busy talking, pacing on his ruined legs. “Klaus, you have to tell them. You have to talk to them for me!” 

“Rivers, you know why I can’t do that—” Klaus says. 

“Why!” Rivers shouts and Klaus jumps. “Why can’t you?”

“They won’t believe me,” Klaus says weakly. He grips the fabric of his pants in one hand, trying to ignore the feeling of blood running down the inside of his thigh. 

Rivers stares at him and he looks truly, agonizingly furious for a split second, before all the life drains out of him and he slumps, shoulders going slack. “I have to go,” he mutters, and then disappears like he had never been there in the first place. 

Klaus slowly relaxes. His head falls back, thunking against the tentpole. A blood stain is slowly growing on his thigh: he’s definitely ripped his stitches. “Fuck,” he says softly.

\---

Klaus bums around the ward tent for another four days. There isn’t much to do other than make a nuisance of himself. Rivers is gone. Klaus tries calling for him and doesn’t get even a whisper of a reply. It’s unnerving. Klaus has never seen a ghost just up and vanish like that. Klaus tries to be helpful in locating all of Rivers’ effects to be sent home, but there’s only so much he can do from a cot in the ward tent.

Dave isn’t around much, either. He tries, and most nights give he and Klaus time alone to kiss and catch up, but soldiers are just so goddamn _busy_ all day. The lack of people he likes is really starting to get on his nerves. With Rivers gone, Klaus feels less guilty about taking pills and lets himself fall freely into medicated bliss, but even that doesn’t come completely without cost. He never thought he’d say this, but Klaus might actually miss the ghosts. At least they’re someone to _talk_ to. 

He spends a day lying in his cot just trying to remember the lyrics to Sweet Caroline before one of the nurses—either taking pity on him or sick of his singing—throws a basket of clean bandages his way and tells Klaus to roll them up. Pure monotony, but it keeps his hands busy. 

On the third day after the wake, Rivers shows back up out of nowhere. They have already sent his body home, along with none of his things. It likely won’t reach America for several weeks, but the condolence letter was sent out the day after Adrian died. His family most likely knows by now. Judging by the look on his face, they definitely do. 

He’s quieter. When Klaus asks where he went, he only says, “My mom’s house.” 

“How did that go?” he asks, cautious of setting Rivers off again. 

Rivers says simply, “She knows.” 

Klaus drums his fingers on his knee. It’s about midday and the ward tent is mostly empty. No one should overhear them if Klaus is quiet. He says, “You want to hear about the time my sister got her hair stuck in the shower rod and we had to figure out how to either detangle her or cut her free?” 

Rivers cocks his head and sits on the floor, legs crossed. A weak smile crosses his face. “Sure.”

So Klaus tells him. He’s grateful for the distraction, and he can tell Rivers is, too. Soon enough, Rivers’ somber attitude begins to dissipate and he’s laughing along with Klaus. Klaus almost feels bad when Dave appears for his cursory evening visit, but Rivers just bats a hand. 

“Promised I wouldn’t creep on you two, right?” 

“Yeah,” Klaus says quietly, aware of Dave making his way over. “See you around.”

Rivers winks, then vanishes. A second later, Dave is taking up his usual spot at Klaus’ bedside. 

Between cabin fever, Rivers’ crisis and the sudden politics in his circle of friends, Klaus is growing increasingly irritated. His only respite is Dave, and even that doesn’t last long. He needs a break. His mood is apparently so obnoxious that Watson tells him the second Klaus can walk out the door unassisted, he’s free to go. Klaus is out the door a day later. 

He’s on light duty—which basically just means watch, all the time, constantly. It’s boring as hell, but he has Rivers to talk to. The kid’s a little less somber now, and Klaus does his best to pull him out of his funk. He’ll get creamed if anyone catches him high while on watch, and he doesn’t want to abandon Rivers anyway. 

Klaus has always been a quick healer, so it isn’t much longer after that that he gets the stitches out. He’s left with an ugly, wiry pink scar on the inside of his thigh that still aches whenever Klaus walks too long. It probably won’t be fully healed for years, if ever. Dave kisses it the first chance he gets, because he’s a sap like that. 

They’d managed to find a building with real, lockable doors—the walls are flimsy, but Klaus _can_ be quiet—and had taken advantage of it as soon as possible. Klaus thinks it’s some kind of maintenance shed, so they definitely shouldn’t be fooling around, but it’s also the middle of the night and no one will be coming in at two in the morning. 

It’s dusty on the floor behind the crates they’d hidden behind, but Dave had brought one of those thin blankets no one ever used, like that would help at all. Honestly, the romance of that man. Give him the right tools and he’d be a regular Romeo. All they have for light is a dim lantern that Klaus is terrified to turn out because who _knows_ what’s hiding beyond their little bubble of kerosene light. It’s far from the most romantic place Klaus has ever fooled around, but it really is just perfect. 

“It’s a reminder that you’re a survivor,” Dave says, head pillowed on Klaus’ bony hip. His fingers trace the edges of Klaus’ scar, making him shiver. Both of them are mostly naked, sweat on their skin drying from one round of desperate, clingy sex. 

Klaus disagrees with him, but he doesn’t want to start a fight when this is the first time they’ve managed to be together in over a month and the first time he feels calm and sated in just as long. Klaus threads his fingers through Dave’s hair and says, “That’s true for _all_ scars, Davey.” 

Dave lifts his head, resting his chin on Klaus’ hip so he can look at him. “You don’t agree with me,” he says. 

“Why do you say that?” 

“You only call me Davey when you’re irritated and you don’t want to admit it,” Dave says. 

Klaus blinks. “I do?” 

“Yeah.” 

Klaus thinks back to every time he’s ever used that nickname and… yeah, that mostly tracks. “Guess I’ll have to think of a better nickname, then,” Klaus says. 

“You don’t have to agree with me,” Dave says, pushing himself up and moving closer. His hand hovers over Klaus’ leg, then up to curl around his hip, thumb pressing into the divot of Klaus’ pelvis. “I just think it’s true.” 

“Thanks,” Klaus says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He lifts that same leg, hooking it around Dave’s waist. He isn’t deflecting, just impatient. “Scars are such bullshit, though. With the way I grew up … Jesus. Lucky to make it out of my teens with as few scars as I did.” 

Dave looks at him, soft, then a little furious. “Did your parents—” 

“Not directly,” Klaus says quickly. He winces. This is the exact kind of pillow talk he wanted to avoid. It has a time and a place, and gearing up for round two is neither of those. “But my dad kind of … encouraged us to be violent.” 

“Klaus …” 

“Can we not talk about it here?” Klaus begs. He lifts his hips up off the blanket. “Fuck me again first, and then maybe I’ll be loosened up enough to drop that bomb.” 

Dave snorts and ducks his head, but not before Klaus catches the look in his eye. “You know you aren’t obligated to tell me anything, Klaus,” Dave says. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

“I know,” Klaus says quietly. “I do want to, but … just not right now.” He _does_ mean it, too: he wants to tell Dave. Maybe not everything, but most things, about his childhood, about his dad, about his powers. It’s just _terrifying._

With his siblings—minus Luther—there was always an implicit understanding that what had happened to them as children was fucked up. People around the world could assume that former child superheroes weren’t extraordinarily well-adjusted, but Klaus had never had to go into the details—had never _wanted_ to, until now. Even though he knows Dave won’t push him away, that first step is still terrifying. 

Dave nods, hands broad and warm on Klaus’ hips. Klaus pulls his other leg up and over Dave’s waist until his heels press into the small of Dave’s back. Klaus might be the one with actual powers, but he’d be willing to bet Dave has some kind of magic with the way he can make Klaus forget everything with one kiss. “It’s fine if you never want to talk about it,” Dave says, pulling away just long enough to say it. “I just want you to know that you can.” 

Klaus puts his hands on Dave’s face, angling his head up to look him in the eye. “I have never met anyone like you,” he says wonderingly. 

“I think I’m the one who should be saying that about you,” Dave says with a smile. 

Klaus obviously isn’t a typical looking guy, even for the future. For the 60s, he’s downright bizarre, sticking out in every which way. But he shakes his head, pulling Dave’s head down to kiss him. “Dave you aren’t like … fuck. You aren’t _like_ everyone else. You’re so wonderfully, uniquely you. I’m so fucking glad I found you first.” 

Dave is staring at him. He blinks a couple times, face reddening. Dave isn’t very shy anymore, but Klaus knows he’s never really been with anyone for longer than a few weeks. He’s probably never had anyone say this to him before. Klaus, on his part, has never had to say it to anyone. “Oh,” Dave says dumbly. 

“I think I hit my head,” Klaus says. 

Dave laughs at that, closing his eyes because they look a little wet, and buries his face in Klaus’ shoulder. Klaus’ face feels hot, but he’s smiling too as Dave wraps his arms around Klaus’ middle. He doesn’t know where all that came from, but he meant every word. Dave has said _tell me things,_ so Klaus is damn well going to tell him things. 

He forgets all about it, though, when Dave angles their hips together and rocks into him slow and soft, and far gentler than Klaus feels like he should be treated. They’ve come a long way since their frantic first time after the disco, or even the educational six days that followed, because Dave knows just how to move in order to turn Klaus pliant and trembling under his hands. Klaus would never say it out loud, but this is making love. 

Dave is so beautiful leaning over him with sweat-damp curls and flushed skin turned warmer by the glow of their single dim lantern. He looks at Klaus so softly; he feels bare under Dave’s gaze. God, Klaus is in love with him. He’s never been in love with anyone before. How fucked up that it has to be now, in the middle of a war? 

Klaus throws an arm over his face when he comes, nearly overwhelmed. Dave guides him through the aftershocks, kissing down his jaw and the line of his neck. “Do you need me out?” Dave murmurs against Klaus’ throat. Klaus shakes his head, face still buried in the crook of his elbow. “Can I see your face?” 

Klaus doesn’t move, but neither does he fight Dave when he laces their fingers together and moves Klaus’ arm to the side. He makes no mention of the tears budding at the corners of Klaus’ eyes if he notices them, and kisses Klaus instead, picking up his rhythm again after a moment. It isn’t too long before he’s squeezing Klaus’ hand, shuddering with his own release, sinking down on the blanket next to Klaus and pulling him close with heavy limbs. 

Klaus hides his face in the curve of Dave’s shoulder and punches him weakly in the ribs. “If you ever tell anyone I almost cried during sex, I’ll kill you.” 

Dave’s chest rumbles with an exhausted laugh. “Cross my heart,” he murmurs. 

For once, Dave doesn’t spur them to move and get dressed once their afterglow has faded. He pulls Klaus into his chest, face buried in Klaus’ curls. “Go to sleep,” he soothes when Klaus starts to squirm in his arms. “I’ll watch over you.” 

Klaus sighs into his grip, relaxing. He’ll keep his little revelation private for now. “Okay,” Klaus whispers. He does, and he dreams about absolutely nothing until the sun rises.

\---

Klaus’ thirtieth birthday comes and goes with little fanfare. He doesn’t even notice the day until Dave points it out to him.

They’re on an overnight patrol, camped about thirty miles down the mountain. The roads have been dangerous lately; they’ve already run into trouble a few times. Nothing they couldn’t handle, but Klaus strained his leg and has been limping since noon. He’d volunteered for watch anyway; because adrenaline from the fight had him shaky and anxious, and because Dave had taken first watch as well. 

It’s a boring, uneventful night up until the point where, out of nowhere, Dave grabs Klaus, spins him around, and plants a full kiss right on his mouth. It’s remarkably bold of him to do so, considering the rest of their patrol is sleeping fifteen feet away. Still, Klaus isn’t complaining. “Happy birthday,” Dave says when he pulls away, grinning at the dumbfounded expression on Klaus’ face. 

That shakes him out of it, at least. “What?” Klaus says. “It’s not my birthday.” 

“Yes it is,” Dave says. “Midnight on September Thirtieth - October First. Your birthday.” 

“I don’t remember telling you that,” Klaus says, hands on his hips. 

“You didn’t have to.” Dave gestures at his chest. “It’s on your dog tags. I’ve seen it.” 

Klaus has to resist the urge to grab his tags and check. Instead, he says, “Was that my birthday present?” 

“Maybe part of it,” Dave laughs. “You’ll have to wait for the rest.” 

“I don’t know if you know, but I’m not very patient.” 

Dave chuckles. “Get back to watch, Private.” 

“Yes, _Sergeant,”_ Klaus says, because he knows it drives Dave absolutely up the wall. He turns and jumps immediately when Dave’s hand smacks him on the ass. Spinning around, scandalized and delighted, Klaus says, “David!” 

Dave laughs, backing away. “Back to watch for real this time,” he says, grinning. “Don’t let me catch you slacking, soldier.” 

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” Klaus says, smiling. God, he could flirt with Dave all day. They get free passes because of the situation sometimes; no one will really notice a casual touch on the back that lingers too long or an arm around their shoulders. Still, there’s definitely no way to play off _that._

Klaus buries his smile in the palms of his hands as he walks away from Dave. He has no idea where Dave’s sudden bravery has come from, but Klaus isn’t complaining. Not when they’re working so well and it finally feels like they’re settling into a rhythm. It’s up to Dave if he wants to bring that up. Klaus won’t push him. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even feel like he needs to. Even in the moments where Dave shakes off a too touchy-feely hand or shoots Klaus a nervous look, there’s none of that underlying irritation. No longer does Klaus feel like he needs to beg for concessions. 

When they return to camp three days later, Klaus finds out they’re up for leave. Dave bumps into him from behind, bending down to whisper, “Happy birthday.” 

“You did this?” Klaus asks. “How?” 

“I talked Flores into it. Convinced him that morale was so low after Rivers died that we could all use a break. It’s only two days, but ...” Dave shrugs. “Tried to make it so we’d actually be in the city for your birthday, but the timelines didn’t work out.” 

“Wow,” Rivers says. “Using my death for personal profit? How so very underhanded of you, Katz.” 

Klaus grins. If there were fewer people around, he’d be kissing Dave. “This is perfect,” he says. “Thank you.” 

“What are boyfriends for?” Dave asks. 

Klaus' breath catches a little, because that's the first time either of them have used that term. Smiling, he nudges Dave in the ribs. “Cheek.” 

Dave pats him on the back, ushering him forward. “Come on,” he urges, sounding only slightly impatient. “Go get your things.” 

Klaus goes without complaint, only shooting Dave one slightly knowing smirk that makes Dave’s face turn pink even as he smiles. 

He murmurs to Rivers’ hovering spectre as he packs. “You should probably keep your distance. Since you’re so sensitive, you know.” 

Rivers sniffs, lifting his chin—but Klaus knows he won’t object. “Fine,” he says. Then, surprisingly, asks, “You’ll be fine without me?” 

“Of course,” Klaus says, turning ever so slightly to give Rivers a bewildered look. Dave glances at him over his shoulder and Klaus flashes him a quick smile. Softer, he asks, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Who do you think keeps the ghosts at bay when you’re sober?” Rivers asks. “Oh, Guardian Angel would have been a great callsign when I was alive.” 

Klaus had known he’d done that, but he’d never really given it any thought. Now, he can’t even recall the last time he was forced to interact with any ghosts he didn’t want to. The spirit of the kid he’d killed months ago, even Johnson and the rest of their dead squadmates kept only to the fringes of Klaus’ vision. “Huh,” Klaus says. “Guess I didn’t think about it.”

“I’m unappreciated in my time.” 

Klaus rolls his eyes. “Then maybe you don’t have to disappear, as long as you’re smart about it.” 

“Cross my heart,” Rivers says fervently, then falls in behind Klaus as he and Dave head out. 

It isn’t just Klaus and Dave who have been given a couple days off, but neither Chaz nor Andrews have chosen to accompany the two of them this time. Klaus doesn’t mind, but he can see the tension in Dave’s shoulders when Chaz brushes them off with a, “Nah, man, not today.” Klaus isn’t sure if it’s because Chaz is still blaming Dave, but he’d be willing to bet that’s the reason. If the look on Dave’s face is anything to go by, he thinks so too. 

“Hey,” Klaus says quietly as they head down the street. “Who needs them, right? Nobody wants to babysit Chaz, anyway. He’s a messy drunk.” 

Dave smiles for Klaus’ benefit and knocks their shoulders together. “Yeah,” he says. “Just us for two uninterrupted days.” 

Klaus pats him on the shoulder, wishing he could do more. It’s still a few blocks to their hotel and as much as he wants to, he can’t keep touching Dave, even like this. Klaus pulls away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Dave turns his face up, sucking in a breath. These brief moments of affection are more frustrating than not being able to touch each other at all. Neither of them have to say anything as they pick up the pace, heading towards the safety of their own company. 

The clerk at the hotel recognizes them, if the way she smiles at Dave is any indication. Klaus tries and (probably) fails not to look too impatient as Dave pays for a room. 

Klaus leans in close when they turn to go. “You know, I think she has the hots for you,” he says, glancing back at the clerk, who’s watching them—or Dave—walk away. 

“That’s too bad,” Dave says. “She isn’t really my type.” 

“Oh?” Klaus asks, teasing. “What is your type?” 

Dave stops in front of a door. “Tall,” he says, sticking the key in. “Long legs, green eyes, dark hair.” 

“Sounds like a dream,” Klaus says, stepping through the door and pulling Dave in after him. 

“He is.” 

Klaus grins when Dave kicks the door closed with a little more force than necessary. True to his word, Rivers vanishes with an overexaggerated groan and a muttered, “That’s my cue.”

“Eager much?” Klaus laughs. He doesn’t have any room to talk—Klaus is already dropping his things, shedding his vest and shirt on the floor. 

Dave answers him with a kiss, pulling him close. It takes every ounce of Klaus’ dignity and self respect not to melt into Dave’s arms. The upside to coming alone is that they don’t have to worry too much about anyone disturbing them. Klaus doesn’t have any qualms about reminding Dave of _that_ and enjoys the way Dave flushes red. 

No matter how well hidden they manage to get in camp, there's still always a thread of fear of being discovered. It's absent now that they're away from camp, away from other soldiers, and the only thing that matters is each other. Klaus doesn't have to think about anything other than how Dave's hands feel on him and how his lips move against him. The only thing he has to focus on is Dave's gasps of pleasure and the way his face looks when he cries Klaus' name. It's so _easy_ to forget that they're fighting a war and that this won't last much longer. 

Klaus doesn’t have any tear-jerking revelations this time, but the thought worms its way up from where he’s buried it in his mind, and he nearly says it right there with Dave sprawled out beneath him, but Dave looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes and a satisfied smile and Klaus’ courage evaporates. He curls up in the crook of Dave’s arm instead, tracing idle patterns on Dave’s chest. 

“You know,” Dave says, combing his fingers through Klaus’ hair. “When we first met, I could’ve sworn you were younger than me. Without the goatee …” 

Klaus laughs. Propping his chin up on his hand, he asks, “How old did you think I was?” 

Dave lets out a breath, thinking. “I don’t know. Twenty-five? Twenty-six?” 

“Practically a cradle robber, David,” Klaus says. 

“In my defense, it was dark when we met.” 

“I love that narrative,” Klaus says wistfully. “Strapping sergeant falls head over heels for his naïve young private. Sounds like the thing that would make an Oscar-winning movie nowadays. But I bet one of us would die in the end, just to make the story dramatic and real.” 

“You are anything but naïve,” Dave tells him with a soft smile. 

Klaus pushes himself out of Dave’s grip and grabs for his clothes on the floor. “You’re right!” he says. “And now I’m going to be worldly. Care to join me?” 

Dave takes his outstretched hand, letting Klaus pull him up. “Where are we going?” 

Klaus pulls his shirt over his head, grabbing his vest. He tosses Dave his shirt. “To take advantage of all the city has to offer us, of course.” 

So they do. 

It isn’t sex and drugs, though. They bum around the city for hours, until the sun has long since set and both of them are just a little too tipsy—Klaus had filled up his canteen at some point and the two of them pass it back and forth. 

They ditch the clubs this time, content to walk around the city and sightsee. It had hurt a little when Chaz and Andrews ditched them without so much as a word of goodbye, but Klaus doesn’t mind so much anymore. Judging by the look on Dave’s face, he doesn’t either. 

The terminus of their night on the town comes on a park bench, both of them sitting together in the darkness provided by a shade tree. Klaus is dozing a little, head resting on Dave’s shoulder. He’s more drunk than Dave—and, evidently, more loose-lipped. 

“This reminds me of our first night,” he murmurs. 

“In Saigon?” 

“ _Together,”_ Klaus says, feeling Dave shake with laughter beneath him. 

“Why? Because we’re sweaty and drunk?” 

It isn’t. Klaus doesn’t know why he’s reminded of it. Maybe just because Dave is here with him and every time they’re together reminds Klaus of the first time. “Yeah,” he says, opening his eyes. “You aren’t nearly as drunk as me, though.” 

“I’m not,” Dave agrees, moving to stand up and pulling Klaus to his feet alongside him. Klaus groans, staggering - but he doesn’t mind so much when Dave wraps an arm around his shoulders and nudges him forward. “Come on, let’s get you home.” 

“Dave,” Klaus says. He stumbles, foot catching on a loose paving stone. Only Dave’s strong arms keep him from getting a mouthful of asphalt. The gesture is a little contrived; Klaus is certain that Dave knows, but he doesn’t care. Klaus nuzzles into Dave’s shoulder. “Dave. David.” 

Grinning, Dave says, “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” 

“It’s my favorite word.” 

Dave laughs. “We gotta get you to bed, man.” 

Klaus lets Dave wrap his arms around Klaus’ waist and heft him up over the curb. Klaus’ toes drag on the sidewalk before he manages to get his feet under himself and walk. “You’re my favorite person,” Klaus says. 

“You’re mine, too,” Dave says, nudging the hotel lobby door open with his foot and pulling Klaus inside. The receptionist raises a tired eyebrow at the two of them as Dave drags Klaus in behind. Klaus is too busy tugging on Dave’s collar to notice the bemused shrug Dave gives her in return. Quietly, he says, “Keep your hands to yourself for a minute, though.” 

Klaus grumbles unhappily, but quits tugging on Dave’s shirt until Dave has carefully relocated them to their hotel room. “Ah,” Dave says when Klaus reaches for his belt buckle. “You’re hammered.” 

“So?” Klaus says, dragging his feet as Dave hauls him to the bed. Dave drops him and Klaus sprawls across the sheets, eyes closing. “I can be drunk and still want you.” 

“You can want me in the morning when you’re sober,” Dave says, working Klaus’ boots off and dropping them at the foot of the bed. 

Klaus cracks an eye open, watching Dave yank his button up over his head and toss it on the floor. “You treat me too nice,” Klaus says. “You aren’t like anyone else I’ve been with. They wouldn’t waste a second to think about if I was sober or not.” 

“Well, I like being a gentleman,” Dave says, choosing to—rather gracefully, Klaus thinks—gloss over what would’ve been a very alarming sentence. Kicking his boots off, he crawls up the bed to Klaus’ level and lies down, letting Klaus fit himself into Dave’s arms. Dave’s fingers find their usual place in Klaus’ hair and Klaus lets his eyes drift back closed. 

“You know if we were back home, I would’ve romanced you so well,” Dave is saying. “Flowers, candlelit dinners, and all that shit.” 

“And no sex ‘til the third date,” Klaus says. Dave snorts. Klaus shifts in Dave’s arms. “Why are you with me?” 

Dave picks at Klaus’ curls absentmindedly as he thinks about it. Klaus isn’t afraid of the answer because he’ll have Dave any way he can, in any capacity, for any reason, but he’s still curious. “Well,” Dave says eventually. “Because you’re everything I didn’t know I could be.” 

“Vague,” Klaus comments. 

“You’re free,” Dave says. “You don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re just shamelessly you, and you always have been. And you’re the one who convinced me that I should be, too. Fuck, I wish we’d met when we were younger.” 

Klaus finds Dave’s hand, curling their fingers together. “I’m glad we met when we did,” Klaus says. “I was a shithead when I was younger. Probably would have steamrolled you; wouldn’t have appreciated you for the kind of man you are.” He looks up at Dave. “I’d like to kiss you,” Klaus says. “And I think I’d like to keep kissing you until the day I die.” 

So Dave leans down to kiss him softly. Against Klaus’ lips, he says, “Hopefully that day won’t come for a very, very long time.” 

Klaus thinks about the future, and the fact that he won’t be born for another twenty years, and the war that against all odds he’s survived. He says, “Well, based on how the rest of my life has gone, that’s probably true.” 

Dave smiles and kisses him again. “Go to sleep,” he says. “We have plenty of time.” 

Klaus would really like to believe that. As he’s so fond of saying, it’s a problem for the morning.

\---

They make the most of it, like they always do. Every moment is shadowed by a ticking clock. Klaus is fine turning the hotel room into a den of sin and locking themselves in to be alone with each other, unhaunted by the fact that they can’t really be a normal couple, but he knows Dave needs to get out and see people. Not exactly wining and dining, but it’s as much of a date as they can make it.

Dave drags Klaus out of bed at a nearly ungodly hour, despite Klaus’ protests. Klaus’ head is pounding. The war really _has_ destroyed his alcohol tolerance. Klaus groans, trying to bury his face beneath the pillows. “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten and showered,” Dave tells him with a soft laugh. In Klaus’ defense, Dave isn’t in any state better than he is, still in last night’s clothes, with adorably messy hair. 

“We could also just sleep in,” Klaus says, determined to make it as hard as possible to wrestle him from the sheets. “For once.” 

Dave grunts, arms loosening from around Klaus’ bony hips. “And waste one of our two days off?” 

Rolling over, Klaus crosses his arms behind his head. He plants one foot on Dave’s chest to keep him at bay. “I wouldn’t call it a waste,” he says. “You certainly weren’t complaining before.” 

Dave’s fingers curl around Klaus’ ankle. “It was different before,” he says with an indulgent smile. His face softens. “Come on, Klaus.” 

Klaus groans and sits up, pulling his leg out of Dave’s hand. “Fine,” he says, trying to pull Dave’s face down to kiss him. 

Dave indulges him for one kiss, then lifts his chin. “You still taste like last night’s bar crawl,” he murmurs. 

“Shot down at every turn,” Klaus complains in mock offense. “Give me an inch, here. At least take a shower with me.” 

“Give you an inch and you’ll take a mile,” Dave tells him, allowing himself to be pulled towards the bathroom. 

“Mm. Wouldn’t you like that.” 

Their shower ends up lasting closer to twenty minutes and doesn’t really help either of them get clean. It’s Klaus who steps out first, pulling clean clothes on and attempting to brush the sour taste of alcohol out of his mouth. It’s adorably domestic when Dave steps out of the shower and leans over to press a kiss to Klaus’ cheek before even grabbing a towel. 

“What?” he asks when Klaus’ only response is to smile. 

“Nothing,” Klaus says airily, tossing his toothbrush on the counter and reaching up to plant a kiss on Dave’s mouth. “Just you.” 

The fact that they have managed to find domesticity here in this city, in the middle of a war, is nothing short of a miracle. The irony isn’t lost on Klaus, but he can’t really bring himself to care, especially not when Dave looks at him like Klaus is the only thing on his mind. Dave had said he’d gotten these two days for Klaus, but Klaus would have been satisfied with any time they could snatch. Not that he’s complaining, anyway. 

It takes them a little while to get ready because both of them keep getting distracted, but when they do finally get out the door, Dave leads them to the music store first—because as Dave tells him, it was kind of their first date. Klaus chooses not to tell him that he’s been counting their midnight smoke breaks as dates from day one, because really, who’s counting? All that matters is that they’re together. Klaus has long since given up on trying to remain aloof and charming when he’s around Dave. He’s more of a ‘dive in head first’ kind of guy anyway. 

It’s so hard not to give in to his baser instincts and hold Dave’s hand or walk with an arm around his waist. Not for the first time, Klaus wishes things were simple enough that he and Dave could go to the future and not look back. It’s a selfish thing to think of, which is probably why Klaus never brings it up. Dave has ties here. There’s no reason to bring it up, especially when Klaus is fine as he is. Besides, with Klaus’ fucked-up family situation, it’s not like the future would be entirely unproblematic. With Klaus’ history of bad boyfriends, no doubt his family’s first impression will be that Dave’s just like the rest of them. Dave will be lucky if he never gets threatened by one of the other less well-adjusted Hargreeves. 

Klaus would prefer to keep it that way for as long as he can, to be honest. He’s trying to be more open with Dave, but the less Dave knows about Klaus’ truly bizarre upbringing, the better. No reason to scare him off with talk about ghosts and future apocalypses. 

But, well—Dave isn’t the type of guy to get scared off. If he wasn’t deterred by finding Klaus sprawled in the mud, on the edge of overdosing, then he probably won’t be put off by the rest of it. 

They do end up at a bar eventually. Not the same one they’d gone to before; neither of them want to risk being recognized, but it’s still flooded with boozy people and dim red light, music reverbing through the walls. No one is really up to paying attention to two more GIs weaving through the crowd, pressing too close to each other. 

It reminds Klaus so much of their first kiss. It’s shockingly sentimental of him to keep that in mind, but the only thing he can think of as they drink and dance is how much he wants to pull Dave into a secluded corner. If only Klaus could get his hands on one of those private booths—then they could have all kinds of fun. 

They find a seat eventually, crammed in the back away from the crowd of people. Dave doesn’t stick around, heading to the bar to get something to drink, and Klaus takes the brief moment of seclusion to reach into his pocket and pop a pill. Rivers had kept his distance, as promised, and Klaus is back to doing all the work in terms of keeping ghosts away. He relaxes against the booth, eyes closing. 

It’s been a long time since he was at a party scene like this. With his eyes closed, feeling the beat of the music in his feet instead of listening to the song, Klaus can almost pretend he’s in the future just wasting time at another rave. He thinks it would be deeply unfortunate if that were the case—if this whole adventure was the product of a really shitty drug trip. 

But then there’s a hand on the side of his face, warm and familiarly callused, and Klaus smiles. “No, thanks,” he says, not opening his eyes. “I have a boyfriend.” 

“Oh?” Dave says softly, playing along. “I’m so sorry then. I’ll leave.” 

Klaus’ eyes snap open and he reaches out, grabbing Dave’s wrist and pulling him into the booth. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Klaus says. Dave is smiling at him as Klaus pulls him down. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Dave agrees. He hands Klaus a drink, brushing their fingers together on purpose since they can’t do anything else. 

Klaus grins and winks, tossing back his drink quick so he doesn’t have to taste it. Dave can’t throw an arm over the back of the booth like he’d like to, but they’re secluded enough that Klaus doesn’t feel any shame running his foot up the back of Dave’s leg. Klaus leans over to him, head cocked. “Ever since you pointed out that I only call you Davey when I’m annoyed, I’ve been trying to think of a better one.” 

Dave—either unflustered by Klaus’ teasing or just good at hiding it (which, based on Klaus’ experience, is unlikely)—just smiles around the rim of his glass. “I’ve been thinking about one for you, too. Being at the music shop today reminded me.” 

“Oh?” Klaus asks, flattered. That’s new territory for him, but something couples do, he guesses. Pet names have never really been his thing. “I’ve never had nicknames. I guess anything’s better than _Number Four._ There Dad goes again, setting high bars. Really, I’d be impressed if you managed to come up with something I hated more than that.” 

“Sunshine,” Dave interrupts. 

Klaus stops mid flow, staring at him. “What?” 

“Sunshine.” Dave takes a sip from his beer bottle. “You remember? From the song I played in the music store?” 

Klaus mouths the lyrics _I’ve got sunshine on a_ — and says out loud, “Oh my god, that’s so cheesy.” 

Dave is smiling, probably because of the way Klaus is blushing. “You don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Klaus says, but hides his face behind his beer bottle anyway. “I did say it would be hard to hate a name more than Four.” 

“Well I’m glad my nickname is a step higher than your parents’ bizarre naming conventions.” On the seat between them, Dave reaches out to touch Klaus’ thigh. Between his cheesy, adorable nicknames that are squeezing all the blood to Klaus’ face and his implicit understanding of Klaus’ less than stellar upbringing, Dave might just be the death of him. 

Klaus clears his throat as Dave’s hand slips around the inside curve of his thigh, face feeling hot. “I still need to think of one for you,” he says. “I’m assuming _daddy_ is vetoed?” 

“Vetoed,” Dave agrees, laughing. “You could always just stick with Dave, you know.” 

“Boo,” Klaus says, sliding in closer to Dave’s grip. “That’s no fun.” 

“Let’s get out of here,” Dave says instead of playing the game. Klaus is taken aback for only a second until Dave pats his thigh, leans in and whispers, “Sunshine.” 

“Oh,” Klaus says, left staring after the empty space Dave makes when he gets up to leave. Dave really, really is going to kill him. Killing with kindness, isn’t that something people say? Klaus has always thought it was something of a miracle that someone like Dave could be here, in the middle of this war, and still remain so unselfishly kind. 

“Come on,” Dave says, holding out his hand to pull Klaus to his feet. “The night is still young. We’ve got places to be, right?” 

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees, relishing the fact that Dave doesn’t let go of his hand as they weave back through the crowd—he holds a little tighter instead.

* * *

It isn’t that late, so there’s plenty of time to bar hop and spend time to themselves. Both of them want to make the most of what time they have. Dave has grand ideas of taking Klaus out for dinner, but he has no idea how safe that is. Alone, they have so much more possibilities than they did while being constantly interrupted by their friends, but they’re still limited in what they can do. 

Breaking out into the open air, Dave sucks in a lungful of fresh air and leans against the wall of the building they’d just left. Klaus falls back beside him close enough that their arms press together. It’s getting dark, so no one will really notice them holding hands. Dave takes the risk. Glancing over, he sees the way Klaus’ lips stretch into a smile. Dave is hit with an unexpected yearning to just be a _normal_ couple. 

“Hey,” Dave says. Klaus’ eyes crack open. “Will you go out with me?” 

Klaus snickers. “What? Like we aren’t already?” 

“I mean like, go out for food. Romancing, like I said last night.” He tugs on Klaus’ hand, glancing down at their entwined fingers. Gesturing at the people coming and going from the bar, he says, “Not that I don’t appreciate all— _this_ —” he stops. “I don’t know,” Dave sighs. “It was just a thought.” 

Klaus is silent for a moment before he runs his thumb across Dave’s knuckles. “I would like that,” he says quietly. Breaking away from the wall, Klaus pulls Dave hand-in-hand down the street. Pressed close together and moving quickly, hardly anyone can tell. 

Dave watches Klaus as they walk, barely paying attention to where he’s going. Klaus is talking, gesturing emphatically with the hand that isn’t grasping Dave’s. Maybe it’s because Dave has already had a couple drinks, but he’s too distracted by Klaus’ face to hear what he’s saying. 

Catching his eye, Klaus flashes a smile and asks, “What?” 

“Hm?” 

“You’re staring.” 

Dave blinks. “Was I?” 

Klaus is about to respond when he looks over Dave’s shoulder and tilts his head. A second later, someone calls, “Dave! David!” and a hand lands heavy on Dave’s shoulder, knocking him forward a step. He turns, irritated, only for his jaw to drop. “Oh my god,” he says, staring at his beaming brother. “Michael.” 

“Little brother,” Mike says, squeezing the back of Dave’s neck. Dave had hated that as kids, but now it just makes him grin. “How’ve you been?” 

“Fine,” Dave says, still dazed. God fucking _damn,_ his brother has bad timing. What are the fucking chances? It takes all Dave has in him not to show his disappointment outwardly. 

They’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. People are forced to part around them, shooting them irritated glances as they pass. Dave shakes his head and moves to the side, dragging his brother with him. Klaus’ hand is still in his, but Dave has forgotten for a moment. “I thought you were on the front lines?” 

“I was,” Mike says. “My battalion got moved back.” 

Weakly, Dave asks, “Is your tour over?” 

“In another six months or so, yeah.” Mike glances at Klaus. His eyes flick down to where their hands are joined together. “Where are my manners? I’m Mike, Dave’s brother.” 

Dave looks at Klaus, then their hands. He shakes out of Klaus’ grip with an embarrassed cough, running his hands through his hair as Klaus stares at Mike’s offered hand. Klaus takes it, eyes narrowing a little. “Klaus,” he says, voice measured. 

“Oh, Dave’s told me all about you.” His brother is smiling, but the look he’s giving Dave makes Dave want to bury his head in the sand. He settles for biting the inside of his cheek and looking up at the sky, hoping it will hide his reddened face. He had told his family about Klaus, but not anything overly … personal. “Not what I expected.” 

“Hopefully I live up to the hype,” Klaus says dryly. Dave has to resist groaning. Klaus nudges him and when Dave looks down, at least he’s smiling. “Said nothing good, I bet.” 

“Everything good,” Dave protests. It’s a surreal feeling, standing here next to his brother _and_ Klaus—his brother, who he hasn’t seen in almost two years, interacting with Klaus, the man who looks possibly the furthest away from straight. It’s clear from Michael’s look that he knows the kind of man Klaus is. Judging by the look he’s leveling Dave, he’d be willing to bet Michael has some interesting ideas. The back of Dave’s neck begins to sweat. 

“Hey,” Dave says, reaching up to run a hand down the back of his neck. They just left a bar, but he doesn’t have any better ideas and he needs to divert attention away from him and Klaus. “Do you want to get a drink? It’s hot as hell out here.” 

“Sure,” Michael says easily. Dave resists the urge to let out a breath. “There’s a great bar just around the corner from here, actually.” 

Dave lets his brother take the lead and falls back with Klaus, grabbing his upper arm to slow him. “I’m sorry,” Dave says softly. “I didn’t anticipate this.” 

“It’s fine,” Klaus says with a breezy smile. “He’s your family. It’s only right you’d want to be around him.” 

Dave glances forward just to make sure his brother isn’t giving them any searching looks. “About that…” 

“I figured he didn’t know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dave says again. His hand slides down Klaus’ arm to linger on his skin. “I know you hate pretending. And we just made plans, too.” 

Klaus scoffs. “Don’t worry; I can totally pass for straight.” 

Dave looks from his dark lined eyes to the low-cut, too tight top he’s wearing. “Sure.” 

Klaus grins and elbows him. “It’ll be fine!” he says brightly, reaching up to tweak Dave’s nose before slipping out of his grip. “You worry too much.” 

“That’s what they tell me,” Dave sighs, watching Klaus catch up to his brother. He trusts Klaus not to give too much away, since it would be bad for both of them, but it is still a little nerve-wracking. 

“So,” Klaus says once he’s walking abreast to Michael. Klaus isn’t exactly short, but Michael is still a good four or five inches taller than him. “You’ve gotta tell me what Dave was like as a kid. I just can’t begin to imagine.” 

Michael glances down at Klaus. Dave is caught between wincing, and an incredible rush of fondness. Of course that’s the first thing Klaus would ask about. God, if he ever takes him home to meet his parents, Dave doesn’t doubt that the first thing he’ll do is sit down with Dave’s mom and go through all of Dave’s old baby pictures. 

“Why do you want to know?” Michael asks. 

“He’s my friend,” Klaus laughs, a confused tilt to his eyebrows. Hearing Klaus call him a _friend_ feels strange and wrong. “Why wouldn’t I want to know every embarrassing detail about his life?”

Catching up to the two of them, Dave throws a casual arm over Klaus’ shoulders and says hurriedly, “No, you don’t.” 

The grin that spreads over Klaus’ face makes Dave want to kiss him. He resolves to do so once they’re alone. “Oh, yes, I do,” Klaus says. 

Dave’s grin falters when Michael clears his throat. He turns to look at his brother. Michael jerks his head at the door. “Bar’s here.” 

“Oh, good,” Klaus says, clapping his hands together and moving off, entirely unaware of the look he’s getting from Michael. “What a change of pace.”

The bar is different to the smoky, poorly-lit clubs that Klaus and Dave have been occupying the past few days. It’s clearly catered more for people who just want a drink, rather than soldiers who are taking advantage of a few unsupervised days off. Dave finds it best not to mention that he has been one of those soldiers on more than one occasion; his brother still probably thinks Dave is a good kid. Normally, Dave might like this bar better than the clubs that have become their scene, but it’s too open and he can’t touch Klaus the way he’d like to. 

They find a seat near the back of the bar and Dave folds in on himself, not trusting himself to not reach out and touch Klaus. Apparently, Klaus has no such reservations, and hooks one foot around Dave’s ankle. 

Michael appears a moment later, drinks in his hands, and says, “I know the owner. He only knows what I like, so I’m afraid it’s just beer for us.” 

It’s tame for them—Klaus especially, because Dave knows exactly what vices he clings to—but Klaus takes the drink without complaint. 

Interrupting whatever Michael had been about to say, Dave says, “So have you heard from mom and dad?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, giving Dave a bizarre look. “Not like there’s much going on in Carthage, except she worries too much. And uh, Ruth is set to graduate highschool this year.” 

Dave had known that - he heard from his parents almost every time mail came, after all - but he still manages a smile and says weakly, “That’s great.” 

“Is that your sister?” Klaus asks and Michael’s gaze swivels his way, almost like he’d forgotten Klaus was there. Klaus is looking at Dave, curious. “You told me you had a sister.” 

“Yeah,” Dave says. 

Taking a sip from his drink, Michael says, “It’s Klaus, right?” 

Smiling, Klaus says, “That’s me.” 

“So what do you do for work, Klaus?” Michael asks, staring at him. 

“Work?” Klaus repeats as though it’s a foreign word. He smiles a little, like the question threw him off and he has to think fast—then he shrugs. “I’m between jobs. My family is well-off. This whole war has really made me rethink my career choices, you know?” 

Dave is wincing internally. It takes all his self control not to bury his face in his hands. Michael is apparently not done with his inquisition, because he asks, “Where’d you go to school?” 

“I didn’t.” Klaus sounds somewhat wary now, but he looks carefree, arm slung over the back of his chair. Waving a hand, he adds, “I barely graduated high school. Guess that’s what makes me such a good grunt.” 

Michael laughs, and Dave can tell it isn’t genuine. He does sigh this time, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “Jesus, what’s with the third degree?” 

“What, I can’t get to know your friends?” Michael asks. 

Klaus shrugs, interrupting before Dave can say anything. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’m not aware that I don’t make the most stellar first impression, but I seem to do well enough at keeping people alive.” 

“Is that so?” Michael asks. 

Klaus meets his eyes. “Better than having ghosts,” he says, a small smile lifting his lips. 

Some of the tension breaks and Michael smiles, lifting his drink. “I can agree with that,” he says. “Where are the rest of your friends, David? They sound like just as much of fine upstanding soldiers as your buddy Hargreeves.” 

Klaus and Dave share a look. Under the table, Klaus pats his knee. Michael glances between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Unless it’s just the two of you?” 

“There are some other guys who came with us,” Dave says quickly. It isn’t exactly a lie, but saying it still makes his palms sweat. He scratches at the label on the beer bottle in his hand, trying to look nonchalant. “We lost track of them, though.” 

“I know what that’s like,” Michael says, letting the awkward atmosphere die. “Couldn’t tell you how many hungover GIs I have to track down when leave is up.” 

“Ours is over tonight,” Klaus says bluntly. 

“Oh,” Michael says, and seems genuinely surprised for a moment. Turning to look at Dave, he says, “I had no idea you had that ticking clock over your heads.” 

“Didn’t want to mention it,” Dave says, shooting a pained look at Klaus, who just shrugs. 

He runs his hands through his hair, shoving his chair back. He’s stressed out and probably overthinking—he’d have no problem having this conversation elsewhere, but Michael’s timing is _terrible._ Dave had really wanted to wait until the war was over to introduce Klaus to his family. 

“I’m going to go get a drink,” he says, standing. Looking at his brother, he says, “Be nice.” 

Dave only catches the peripherals of Michael’s indignant, “I’m always nice,” as he heads towards the bar. 

He leans on the counter, rubbing at his temples. This could be going so much better. It isn’t Klaus’ fault, but Dave’s instinct to defend his choices from his family is starting to kick in and he wants nothing more than to prove that Klaus is as good as Dave knows he is. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he watches Michael lean in across the table and put one hand on Klaus’ shoulder. Dave’s eyes narrow; the bar is too loud for him to hear what’s being said, and he was never any good at reading lips, but it probably isn’t anything overly flattering if the way Klaus’ jaw ticks is any indication. With every passing minute, Dave is regretting saying yes to getting drinks with his brother. He wishes he could just be honest and tell Michael that Klaus is the man he’s in love with, but there’s a time and a place for these things, and a dingy bar in the middle of a war is neither of those. 

Sighing again, Dave takes the drink that’s been given to him and turns to head back to the table. Michael sits back as Dave approaches and Klaus’ nose wrinkles like he wants to give in to childish impulses and stick his tongue out. He props his chin in his hand and leans on the table instead. He should not have left them alone. 

Before Dave has to think of something to break the silence, Michael sits up and stretches. “Well I would hate to keep you two here when you only have a few hours left,” he says, reaching out to pat Dave on the shoulder. “I’ll head off. It was good to see you, Dave.” 

“You too,” Dave says weakly, grasping his brother’s hand. “Stay safe.” 

Michael nods at Klaus. “Good to officially meet you, Hargreeves. Keep my brother alive, will you?” 

“Cross my heart,” Klaus says, holding up his right hand. 

Michael smiles, gives Dave a casual salute, and moves off out of the bar. Dave lets out a breath, letting his head slide through his hands to whack against the table top. Klaus laughs, reaching out to put his hand on the back of Dave’s neck. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” he says. 

“I think it was kind of a disaster,” Dave says. Lifting his head, he asks, “What did he say to you?” 

“Nothing important,” Klaus says, shrugging. Dave frowns, concerned, but Klaus just smiles easily. “Really! Don’t worry about it. Not like I’m not used to getting the shovel talk.” 

“He can be intense,” Dave says. 

He waves a hand. “Whatever,” Klaus says. “You should hear the speeches my brothers give. All that gravitas kind of wears you out.” 

Smiling tiredly, Dave rests his head on his hand. “I’m glad it wasn’t a complete failure, then,” he says. 

Klaus hums, sipping his drink. “However,” he says, setting his tumbler down. “Your brother did leave us with his bar tab, which, really, for a guy giving _me_ shit, is spectacular form.” 

Dave laughs, slumping back in his chair. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money for it, so he doesn’t mind paying, but Klaus isn’t wrong. When their tab is settled, Klaus throws an arm around Dave’s shoulders and they set off down the street, watching the sun set through the haze of orange smoke on the skyline. 

Dave checks his watch: six o’clock. They have a little less than twelve hours left. “What do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” he muses, swerving to avoid a couple passing them on the sidewalk. Their plans for dinner had been a little shot and Dave isn’t sure Klaus is still up for it. Ticking off their only options, he asks, “Bar? Hotel? Food?” 

“Shockingly, none of the above.” Klaus swings in front of him, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I want to go get a tattoo.” 

“A tattoo?” Dave laughs. “Of what?” 

“I wasn’t really thinking of the specifics.” 

“I thought that was kind of the first thing you needed when getting a tattoo,” Dave says. 

Klaus smiles. “Maybe I just want to remember being here with you,” he says. 

Dave feels his face go a little pink. “Well, I can’t really argue with that,” he says. 

Letting Klaus take him by the hand, Dave forgets their disastrous meeting with his brother and the fact that they have so little time left. Klaus chatters idly about prospective tattoos, and Dave muses to himself that he wouldn’t mind getting another for Klaus. 

Klaus pulls him into a tattoo shop hours later, with barely any plan other than grabbing the artist’s face, pulling him close, and saying, “Surprise me.” 

Dave shakes his head, watching the artist print thick lines of ink on Klaus’ shoulder. He has half a mind to pull out his Vietnamese dictionary to make sure the artist isn’t writing something like _dumbass American,_ but there’s no need. Klaus doesn’t seem at all concerned for the forty-five minutes it takes to finish, and doesn’t let Dave tell him what it is when the tattoo is done. 

“Does it look good?” is all Klaus asks as they walk back to the hotel, hands swinging freely between them. It’s late—or early, depending on how you look at it—and while Saigon never falls truly silent, this street is deserted. They indulge, hands twined together, not hidden between a press of bodies or under tables. 

Dave admires the broad lines of the tiger twisting elegantly down Klaus’ shoulder. It suits him: bold and sinuous, something beautiful that very easily hides something dangerous. “Yes,” Dave says. “It’s very you.” 

“Not human ouija, I hope.” 

Dave grins. “Not quite.” 

Klaus squeezes his hand, smiling. “I can hardly wait to see.” 

They let go of each other after that because a group of soldiers turns the corner in front of them, hollering in drunken glee. It reminds Dave of their last leave, when all five of them had been together. He wonders what Chaz is doing right now, if Andrews is with him. What Rivers would be doing if he weren’t in several bloody pieces. 

Because Dave doesn’t want to chase that rabbit hole into a well of depression and guilt, he turns to Klaus and says, “I’ll race you to the hotel.” 

“What?” Klaus asks, but Dave is already running, sprinting down the street. “Hey! Headstart!” 

Klaus is fast—and, as it turns out, a bit of a sore loser—so it doesn’t take long before they’re racing through the early morning streets of the city, laughing loud enough to be making nuisances of themselves. Dave only slows down once they reach the doors of the hotel, but Klaus doesn’t, slipping inside and disappearing around the corner. Panting, Dave lifts one tired hand to the wide-eyed receptionist as he strolls as casually as he can through the lobby. 

Klaus is sitting on the floor in front of their door when Dave finds him, head leaned back. “You’re a cheater,” he says, pointing at Dave. Dave grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet and certainly enjoying the way Klaus leans into him, wrapping his arms around Dave’s waist. 

“It’s called taking initiative,” Dave says, unlocking the door and ushering Klaus through. 

Klaus kicks off his shoes and grabs the back of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, discarding it on the floor. “That must be why you’re the sergeant and not me.” Sweat is shining on his skin as he heads for the bathroom, nudging the door open and hitting the lights. They will actually have to leave in the morning this time, so they shouldn’t be making a mess, but Dave does the same anyway. 

He follows Klaus and leans on the doorframe, watching Klaus turn his back to the mirror to stare at his tattoo. He glances at Dave, smile on his lips. “It does suit me.” 

Pushing himself off the doorframe, Dave heads over and cages Klaus against the bathroom sink, dropping a kiss on the tail of the tiger that curls up over Klaus’ shoulder. “You know, you’re going to regret this when we leave tomorrow morning,” 

“Maybe,” Klaus agrees. “But that’s a problem for me then.” 

Releasing his hold on Klaus, Dave backs up towards the bed. “I better not hear you complaining about it when we leave,” he warns, a playful smile softening his words. Sitting, Dave leans back on the mattress. 

Klaus follows him out, leaning on the doorframe between the bathroom and the bedroom. “Face it, tiger,” he says. “You hit the jackpot.” 

Dave laughs. “Is that the best you can come up with? I expected better.” 

“Oh, give me some slack,” Klaus says, coming away from the doorframe. He kneels on either side of Dave, grabbing Dave’s face in his hands. “It’s two in the morning.” 

“Oh, so I should let you sleep.” 

“I didn’t say that.” Klaus grins wickedly, arms sliding around Dave’s neck. It’s hard to be tired with a man like Klaus in his arms. Dave really is perfectly content to be exhausted tomorrow, because even though they have to be up doesn’t mean he can’t sleep on the way there. He can, however, pull Klaus’ clothes off and press kisses along his neck while Klaus works inarticulate fingers on the buttons on Dave’s shirt. 

Klaus pauses suddenly, smoothing his hands along Dave’s chest. “I have been thinking about tomorrow,” he says, surprising Dave enough to pull back and look up at him.

“Uncharacteristic of you.” 

Klaus’ mouth pulls taut in an irritated smirk. “Hilarious.” Dave laughs and Klaus continues. “About tomorrow, we could just … not go.” 

“Not go … to the base?” 

“Not go back at all,” Klaus says. He sits up, still straddling Dave’s hips, and gestures around the room, at them. “Wouldn’t you rather have all this than go back to crowded tents, gunfire, and wet clothes?” 

“Where would we go?” Dave asks. This isn’t the first time Klaus had brought this up. In fact, the last time he had, they’d been in a position very similar to this one, in a room almost the same. 

“Anywhere,” Klaus says, sounding like it would be no harder than walking down to the corner store. “New York? France? Germany? It _is_ almost October.” 

“We can’t just leave,” Dave points out again. “Look, even if we did go AWOL successfully, we’d never be able to go home. Your family, my family, we’d never see them again. Besides, we have an obligation to see this through. _I’m_ not abandoning it.” 

Klaus heaves out a sigh, glancing away. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I guess.” 

Reaching up to cup his face, Dave says, “I know you wouldn’t abandon this, either. If leaving is as easy as you say it is, why wouldn’t you have left already?” 

Klaus blinks several times. “Well,” he says. “You tell me.” 

“Because you’re a good, honest man.” Dave smiles, stroking his thumbs along Klaus’ cheekbone. Klaus groans, face warming under Dave’s hands. With a sly smile, he adds, “Sunshine.” 

“David,” Klaus breathes weakly, eyes closing as he reaches up to grip Dave’s hands. Dave has only ever liked the name _David_ when it comes out of Klaus’ mouth. He resolves to tell Klaus about it later. “Kiss me.” 

Dave has no problem complying.

\---

Klaus does complain about the tattoo in the morning, rolling his shoulder against the fabric of his shirt like he might be able to relieve some of the irritation. He only stops when Dave flicks him in the ribs and tells him to knock it off, a move that earns Dave a capital L-Look.

Dave doesn’t blame him. He remembers that discomfort well. The morning they’d woken up with new tattoos was the same morning they’d had to go back. Dave had hardly wanted to put on a shirt because of the way that the sleeves scratched against the healing scab of his tattoo, and it wasn’t like Klaus was any encouragement to do so. He’d never hated his half-drunk, impulsive brain more than he had for the two weeks it took for the tattoo to heal. Dave had sworn not to get another tattoo until they left Vietnam, and Klaus had called him a baby. He wonders if Klaus regrets that now. 

To be fair, Klaus is nursing a hangover as well as the beginnings of withdrawals, _and_ they’re jammed in the back of an M35 with ten other soldiers all on their way up to the airbase. It isn’t exactly a pleasant trip. 

The road is blackened, pockmarked, still smoking in some places. The pass platoons of marching soldiers and it makes Dave a little afraid knowing just how close the war is getting to what feels like the last bastion of civilization. When he isn’t complaining about his tattoo, Klaus is staring off the side of the road, eyes tracking something only he can see. 

Beside him, Klaus starts patting the pockets of his vest, pulling his flask out. “Oh, come on,” he complains, pulling it away from his lips and tipping it down. Dave pats him on the thigh sympathetically. Klaus shoots him a soft look, but still grimaces as he tucks his flash away. “It’ll be a fun few days until I can get my hands on anything.” 

“You’ll live,” Dave says, trying not to sound unkind. “Why didn’t you pick anything up in the city?” 

“No time,” Klaus says, hands darting into all his pockets, searching for _some_ kind of fix. 

Dave knows that’s a lie. There had been plenty of time, plenty of opportunities for Klaus to slip into an alley and come back ten minutes later, set for the next couple weeks, at least. Even if he hadn’t wanted to waste any time with Dave, he could’ve gone while Dave was asleep. Dave doesn’t exactly love Klaus’ habit, but he knows it would be harder to quit now than back in the states: the camp is practically overflowing with drugs. It won’t be hard to find any. 

“You’re resourceful,” Dave says, squeezing Klaus’ knee. 

“Aha!” Klaus says, pulling a joint out of his back pocket. It looks ancient and there isn’t much left of it. Sticking it in the corner of his mouth, Klaus asks, “Got a light? Think I lost my lighter.” 

Dave obliges, smiling fondly. Sighing, Klaus relaxes back and throws his arms over the sides of the truck bed, eyes slipping closed. Dave can’t help but follow Klaus’ lead. It’s not like there’s anything better to do, and he wants to catch up on his sleep anyway. 

It’s a good thing, too, because the second the M35 slams to a halt, someone is jerking him awake and hauling him to his feet. 

“Fuck,” Dave hisses, trying to get his bearings. It’s mayhem on base—for a second, Dave thinks they’re under attack. He stumbles when his boots hit the ground because the driver barely waits until all the soldiers are on their feet before taking off. Klaus isn’t next to him and Dave can’t spot him among the soldiers. 

Turning to the closest soldier who doesn’t look like he just got off the boat, Dave asks, “What’s going on?” 

“Missed a supply drop,” the soldier says, entirely too cheerful. He hefts an ammo can off the bed of the truck he’s standing by and drops it in Dave’s empty arms. “Got blown up on the roads, so they’re sending us what we need from other bases. Not a lot though. It’s all shit.” 

“What are we out of?” Dave asks, bewildered as this soldier continues to hand him supplies. 

“Fuckin’ everything, man,” the soldier says, slapping him on the shoulder before directing him to the quartermaster. 

It takes Dave a second to get his bearings, but as soon as he remembers how to be a soldier, he just sighs and heads off. 

Later, after he’s adjusted to the chaos, Dave finds Klaus almost without trying. He’s just stopped to take a break and relax, leaning against the hood of a jeep to smoke, when Klaus comes around the corner, looking irritated. He softens at the sight of Dave, trailing over. 

“Hey,” Dave says, reaching out almost unthinkingly to curl his fingers in the front of Klaus’ vest. “Where’d you get off to?” 

“Chaz snagged me while you were still taking your beauty nap.” Reaching up, Klaus steals the cigarette out from between Dave’s lips. 

“And you went willingly?” Dave teases. 

Exhaling smoke, Klaus says, “I just do what I’m told.” 

“Liar.” Klaus flashes a smile, but it seems halfhearted. Glancing around to make sure no one is paying attention, Dave pulls the cigarette out of Klaus’ mouth so he can press a kiss to his lips. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs. 

Sighing, Klaus leans into him and rests his head on Dave’s chest. Dave folds around him, kissing the top of Klaus’ head. “Supplies are low,” Klaus says. “Including meds.”

“Ah,” Dave says softly. 

“Yeah.” 

He rests his cheek on the top of Klaus’ head, eyes closing. Dave’s seen Klaus in the middle of withdrawals, but there’s no telling how bad they might get. “You’ll be alright, Sunshine,” Dave says quietly, enjoying the way Klaus’ smile turns a little more genuine. 

They stand that way for a little while longer until they have to separate. Duty calls—Dave has to go off and stand watch and Klaus has to go off and do— _something,_ maybe to avoid withdrawal or just delay it for a while. All in all, it’s a bitter first night back. 

Klaus doesn’t sleep at all that night, and Dave, who’s on watch until well into the night, doesn’t notice. The second day, Klaus nearly passes out while running drills. Dave only notices his shaking hands and pale face when he gets Klaus to sit in the shade away from the rest of the soldiers. 

“What is it?” Dave asks, stroking his hands through Klaus’ hair. 

Klaus, leaning forward on his knees, can only croak, “Withdrawals.” 

Supplies running low mean drugs are a commodity. Klaus is pushing himself to his limits by holding out, and Dave can’t do anything about it. 

“It’s bad for you, Sunshine,” Dave says one night after Klaus’ withdrawals had been so bad he could hardly walk. He’s doped up now, limbs loose and heavy, draped across Dave’s shoulders. “Only taking it when your withdrawals get too bad.” 

“It’s all bad, baby,” Klaus tells him. “The drugs are bad, the withdrawals are bad. The ghosts are bad …” he trails off, and Dave thinks he’s fallen asleep against his shoulder, but then Klaus stirs and murmurs, “If we weren’t under fire all the time, maybe I’d take the time to get sober, but I can’t do it now.” 

“I know,” Dave says, brushing his hand along Klaus’ cheek. He can’t help but feel a little bitter that Klaus had gotten himself into this mess in the first place. He knows Klaus had been young when he’d started, but Klaus had never shared with him why. Maybe it’s the nightmares Dave knows have nothing to do with the war. From the bits and pieces Dave knows about his family, he can put together a frightening picture. 

Dave kisses Klaus once, softly, tasting the remnants of alcohol on his lips. “Let’s get you some sleep.” 

“Mm, will you be with me?” Klaus asks. 

“Eventually, yes,” Dave says, pulling Klaus upright and letting him lean heavily on Dave’s shoulder. “Not tonight, though.” No matter how much he wishes it weren’t the case, there is nothing Dave can do to make it any better. 

Unfortunately, Klaus going through withdrawals almost every day means he’s usually in a shitty mood. Chaz has no problem calling him on his attitude, which really only makes it worse, and Dave just wishes to _god_ he could take a nap. 

It comes to a head on a boring, muggy evening, where none of them have anything to do but sit around. Dave is lying propped up against a crate, trying to blow a successful smoke ring. Klaus is in a better mood than he has been and is sitting next to him, doing rifle maintenance that he’s put off for the last few weeks instead of napping in some hidden corner of camp. What Dave _really_ wants to do is sneak off with him, but the socialization is probably good for them both—not that there’s much socializing going on. Chaz has a hat pulled over his eyes and Andrews is playing a game of solitaire with the cards he’d taken out of Rivers’ things before they’d been sent back.

Still. Dave glances up at Klaus and nudges his foot with the tip of his boot. Klaus looks down at him and Dave raises his eyebrows. Grinning, Klaus looks as though he’s about to reply when his face sours and he looks off to the side, hissing something too soft for Dave to catch. 

“Huh?” Dave asks softly. Chaz lifts the brim of his hat to watch them. 

“Nothing,” Klaus says, waving a hand at Chaz to motion him back to sleep. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Chaz shrugs and returns back to dozing. Using the relative privacy to straighten up and place his hand on Klaus’ calf, Dave says quietly, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Klaus says breezily. His eye twitches, head turning to the side just a little like he’s heard someone call his name. “Really. Relax.” 

He has to know that Dave isn’t convinced, because Dave knows he doesn’t look like he’s buying it for one second, but he does seem to relax a little when Dave lets it go. For all Dave knows, he’s just twitchy from withdrawals, though it’s no secret that Klaus talks to himself sometimes. It’s—unfairly, in Dave’s opinion—earned him a reputation of being something of a freak. Shooting him a concerned look, Dave leans back again. 

Klaus returns his attention to his rifle, but now that Dave is paying attention, he notices all the looks Klaus keeps shooting at _nothing._ He doesn’t look nervous, though. He looks goddamn irritated. 

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Klaus hisses suddenly. Dave looks up sharply. Klaus isn’t talking to any of them. Chaz sits up, pushing the brim of his cap up with the tip of his forefinger. Even Andrews glances up from his card game. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” 

Dave and Chaz share a look. Chaz jerks his head as if to say, _He’s your friend, you do something about it._ “Uh,” Dave says. “You alright?” 

Klaus’ head swivels his way. “Fine,” he says automatically. Dave knows he’s been having a hard time with the withdrawals and more frequent firefights, but this doesn’t seem like the same thing. 

“You were talking to nobody,” Chaz interrupts. 

Klaus’ face takes on an oddly flat quality. Dave catches the nervous flicker in his eye. “I said that out loud, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

“Can’t really play that off as me being eccentric, can I?” 

Dave winces as Chaz shakes his head. “Nah.” 

Klaus smiles disarmingly, spreading his hands. His eyes flick back over to that empty space and he pauses noticeably. “You know, I knew I’d have to have this conversation at some point,” he sighs, smiling like it doesn’t bother him as much as Dave can tell it does. Klaus scrapes a hand through his hair. He warns, “You won’t believe me. Can’t we just say I’m high and move on?” 

“Is it really a big deal, Chaz?” Dave asks.

“Quit pussyfooting around, Hargreeves,” Chaz says, ignoring Dave. “What the hell is going on with you?” 

“Okay, okay,” Klaus says, running his hands over his face and through his hair. The look on his face is resigned, like he knows whatever is about to come next is about to go poorly. Chaz is staring at him, already fed up. Dave’s hand clenches to stop him from reaching out to touch Klaus. Klaus turns and looks at him, eyes sad. 

“I see ghosts,” Klaus says simply. It’s safe to say Dave hadn’t been expecting that. Klaus doesn’t take his eyes off Dave, and Dave can’t help but feel like the statement is addressed to him—Chaz and Andrews just happen to be there. “Rivers especially. He likes to hang around.” 

Dave blinks. “Well,” he says at the same time Chaz says, unamused, “What?” 

Turning to Chaz, Klaus says, “Did I not say it slowly enough?” 

Chaz’s face darkens. Andrews just sighs and shakes his head, turning away. Dave scrambles to his feet when Chaz stands up, already anticipating having to put off a fight. “I always knew there was something off about you, but I didn’t think you were actually crazy,” Chaz snaps. Klaus’ face relaxes into something of a carefree smile; Dave recognizes it for the defense that it is. He wonders how many times Klaus has heard this in order to fall back onto that mask so easily. 

“Hey, this isn’t something you’re gonna find in the DSM-5,” Klaus says. “If you’re going to call me crazy, at least pick something diagnosable.” 

Chaz lifts his hands. “Is it just attention you want? Or is it just physically impossible for you to be serious for five seconds?” 

“Hey now,” Dave says, raising a hand. 

He doesn’t get to say more, because Klaus spreads his hands and says, “You know me, Chaz. I only ever do anything for attention. Isn’t that right, Rivers?” 

Chaz steps forward, one hand lifting like he’s about to hit Klaus, or poke at him or antagonize him somehow. Klaus isn’t helping by egging him on. Moving between the two of them, Dave puts his hand on Chaz’s chest. “Back off,” he warns. “It isn’t worth it.” 

Chaz bats his hand away. “Wake the fuck up, Katz,” Chaz snaps. “Quit defending him. He doesn’t do jack _shit_ for you, and it’s gonna bite you in the ass someday.” With that, he turns and stalks off, shoulders hunched. 

Dave watches to make sure he’s well and truly gone before turning towards Klaus. Klaus is already walking away, hands in his pockets. “Hey,” Dave calls, jogging to catch up to him. He grabs Klaus by the arm, turning him around. Klaus shoots him a look like he’s offended and surprised that Dave would touch him. “What was that all about?” 

Klaus slides his arm out of Dave’s grip. “Are you going to give me shit, too?” 

“No,” Dave says. “I mean, it was a weird joke and I don’t really get it, but I’m not going to give you shit over it.” 

“It isn’t a joke, Dave,” Klaus says, eyes searching. He looks resigned, like the reaction he’d gotten from Chaz and Andrews was expected, but also like he couldn’t care less as long as Dave believes him. “I really do see them.” 

Dave takes his hands, running his thumb across Klaus’ knuckles. “Okay,” he soothes. “I believe you.” 

Klaus looks at him. Whatever he sees makes him smile a little sadly. Pulling his hands out of Dave’s grip, he pats him on the arm and says, “No, you don’t.” 

“Klaus,” Dave protests as Klaus pulls away. 

“I don’t need you lying to me too, Davey,” Klaus says, lacing his fingers behind his head. Dave winces at the nickname. He watches Klaus walk off, debating whether or not to go after him. He probably wants his space; Dave needs to think about this, too. 

He’d figured being in the army was going to throw a couple curveballs, but falling for a man who could supposedly see the dead wasn’t really what Dave had expected. The weirdest part is it _makes sense._ Klaus’ self-admitted human ouija aesthetic, the overheard conversations where he spoke to no one and still waited for a response. It makes sense, and Klaus would never lie to Dave, but when Dave had told Klaus he could open up, this wasn’t really what he’d been expecting. 

Dave sighs, tugging on his hair. He needs a drink. Or a nap. “Okay,” he says to himself, heading for the tent. “Klaus will be fine by himself for ten minutes and you can think about this.” 

Chaz is lying on his cot, hands laced behind his head when Dave enters. There’s no one else in the tent, so Dave isn’t exactly conscious of the stormy look on his face. He stalks to the foot of his cot and pivots, turning to pace back towards the entrance of the tent. Chaz groans. 

“Oh, god,” he says. “Can you not? I know you’re freaked out and whatever, but can you not?” 

“What do you want me to do, Chaz? Huh?” Dave pauses briefly. 

Chaz lifts his hands out from under his head, shrugging. “Have a drink? Deal with it quietly? Deal with it loudly, but away from me?” 

Dave blinks. “Deal with what?” 

“The fact that Hargreeves is fucking crazy,” Chaz says, eyebrows lowering. He puts his hands back under his head and leans back, closing his eyes. “Normally I wouldn’t really cast doubt on some shell-shocked kid, but he’s convinced he sees spirits, so.” Chaz waves a hand. “Doubt cast.” 

Dave scoffs and resumes pacing. Klaus had said he didn’t lie about the important stuff. He’d _never_ lie like that to Dave, but … for all Dave knows, Klaus just thinks he’s telling the truth. He wants to give Klaus the benefit of the doubt—it would certainly explain some things—but it’s just so. Well, unbelievable. 

“What if he’s not lying?” Dave asks, stopping at the foot of Chaz’s cot. “Or crazy? You know, consider the fact that he’s perfectly sound and being honest—what then?” 

Chaz sits up. “Are you _seriously_ entertaining the idea that Hargreeves is seeing the spirit of our dead friend?” he asks. He holds up his hands when Dave opens his mouth. “Okay, stop, shut up—what’s more likely? That Klaus is one, crazy, two, lying, or three, that he actually sees ghosts?” Dave shuts his mouth, jaw clenching. Chaz nods. “That’s what I thought.” 

“You know what? Fuck you, Chaz.” Dave stabs a finger at him. Chaz’s face darkens. “You’ve always doubted him. You’ve never been willing to look past his bullshit exterior. For once the guy opens up and this is how everyone treats him? I’m not surprised he ran off.” 

Getting to his feet, Chaz steps closer to Dave to poke him in the chest. In a soft voice, he says, “The only reason you’re defending him is because you want to keep getting your dick wet, and you think Hargreeves won’t wanna fuck you if you’re not in on his delusion.”

All the breath seems to freeze in Dave’s lungs. His eyes widen and the world seems to spin out of focus for a brief second. “How did you know?” Dave asks, voice sounding distant even to his own ears. 

“A blind guy could notice you two all over each other,” Chaz says, still speaking quietly. Dave can appreciate his discretion, even if he feels a little bit like he might pass out. “If that wasn’t enough—the walls of that hotel were thin, Dave. Did you forget we were on the other side?” 

A jerky, unsteady laugh escapes through Dave’s lips. He wants to step away, but he honestly thinks his knees will buckle. “What are you going to do about it?” 

“Haven’t turned you in yet, have I?” 

Some feeling returns to Dave’s legs. He cocks his head. “Huh?” 

Stepping back, Chaz runs a hand through his short cropped hair and looks down. “Listen, you’re both good guys, so I’m willing to overlook your shit. Honestly, the most objectionable part of this is the fact that you want to believe Klaus _sees the dead._ That kid’s fifty pounds of crazy in a ten pound sack.” Dave bites his tongue, eyes narrowing. Chaz continues on, oblivious. “But if you’re gonna believe him, I don’t want anything to do with it. You hear?” 

Dave takes a step back. To his great relief, his knees don’t buckle. His heart is still jerking unsteadily against his ribs, but at least the dizziness is gone. “Fine,” he says. 

“Fine,” Chaz says. He sits back on the cot, eyeing Dave warily. 

“I’m not going to thank you,” Dave says. 

“Whatever.” 

Dave turns to go. The abrupt drop in adrenaline is making his hands tremble. He needs to find Klaus—maybe tell him about this, maybe talk to him about ghosts, it doesn’t matter. He just wants Klaus. Dave stops at the tent flap and looks back at Chaz, who’s staring resolutely at the ceiling. 

Just loud enough so that he can hear, Dave says, “It isn’t just that, you know.” Chaz doesn’t respond, but Dave sees his eyes flick over. “I care about him. He cares about me. We—well. You know. That’s why I’m willing to believe him.” 

“Whatever,” Chaz says again, but it sounds weak and quiet. 

Dave leaves him lying there, heading out across camp. He knows where Klaus will be. Luckily it’s late enough that people are either don’t care or aren’t paying attention as Dave hurries over to where Klaus usually goes when he needs to clear his head. As he nears the building next to the vehicle yard, Klaus’ voice greets him.

“Well what the hell do you want me to do, huh?” 

For a second, Dave thinks Klaus is talking to him. He opens his mouth to call Klaus’ name when Klaus speaks again. 

“I’m not putting myself out there to get shot down again. No thanks! I get enough of it from my family—no, no, Rivers, shut up.” A beat. Dave slows to a stop to listen. “You know what I really want? I really want to get high and pass out for an hour, but I can’t do that because I don’t have any fucking drugs.” 

It sounds like one half of a conversation, that’s for sure. Dave feels almost voyeuristic listening in on a conversation he knows Klaus wouldn’t want him to hear. He pokes his head around the corner. Klaus is perched on a crate, cigarette clenched between his fingers. He looks miserable, hair a mess and bags under his eyes. Dave softens. 

Almost immediately, Klaus’ shoulders hunch and he swivels to look at Dave. “Oh, great,” Klaus sighs, flicking his cigarette into the dirt. Dave isn’t hurt by the comment. He knows Klaus is having a rough time. 

Coming around the corner, Dave sits on the crate next to Klaus. Klaus stretches, back popping. Dave hasn’t felt this awkward about talking to Klaus since the first month he showed up. “So,” Dave says, flexing his fingers on his knees. “Ghosts.” 

Klaus laughs incredulously. “Wow,” he says. “I mean, I knew you were going to ask, but that’s just terrible. You had, what, almost an hour to come up with something, and that’s what you lead with?” 

“Not really the type of guy to pussyfoot around,” Dave says. “Would you rather I let you run away from it?” 

Klaus narrows his eyes, then looks away. “No,” he admits. His eyes look far away, tracking something only he can see. 

“So…” Dave trails off. 

“Ghosts,” Klaus finishes. He sighs, running his hands through his hair until it sticks up. Staring out across camp, he says, “You don’t believe me.” 

Dave puts his hand on Klaus’ knee. “I believe that _you_ believe you see ghosts,” he says. 

“Wow!” Klaus exclaims, turning to look at Dave with disbelief in his eyes. “That is almost more offensive than just straight up calling me a liar.” 

“What do you want from me?” Dave asks quietly. “I want to help. I want to talk to you about this, but I don’t know how.” 

“And I don’t know how to make you understand when you don’t trust that I’m not lying,” Klaus tells him. “So we seem to be at an impasse.” 

Dave hates to ask this, but he says, “Do you have proof?” 

“Proof?” Klaus echoes. He opens his mouth as if to say more, then his head tilts, turning ever so slightly to the left. “You’d do that?” he asks, sounding a little amazed. 

Dave says, “What?” and Klaus holds up a finger in his direction, still looking at the air to his left. 

“That is remarkably unselfish of you, Adrian,” Klaus says. Dave feels a chill down his spine. “I thought you said death wasn’t going to turn you into an altruist?” 

“Klaus.” 

Klaus turns to look at him, impatient. “Dave, please. I’m trying to have a conversation.” 

Dave looks at the space behind Klaus’ left shoulder. “With the air?” he asks. 

A muscle in Klaus’ jaw ticks. “No,” he says, sounding far more controlled than he looks. Before he can say more, whatever—or _whoever_ —he’s talking to seems to say something else. Klaus looks back over to it. “You’d do that? Just to help me prove a point?” 

Whatever response he gets makes Klaus jump up from the crate, grabbing Dave’s hand and hauling him to his feet. Bewildered, Dave asks, “Where are we going?” 

“Off to give you your proof,” Klaus says, towing Dave back across camp towards the tent. “That’s what you want, right?” 

“Well,” Dave says. He wants to say _not like this_ because this feels wrong. He feels like he shouldn’t be asking for proof at all, not after what he’d said to Chaz. An undeniable curiosity has been eating at him, though, ever since Klaus had first confessed what he could see. If Klaus is willing to show him, well. Dave won’t say no. 

Klaus shoves his way into the tent and stops short. Dave narrowly avoids crashing into him. Chaz is still lying on his cot. He looks to them as they enter, then at their hands, which are still twined together. 

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, pushing up off the bed. “Enjoy crazy town, Katz.” 

“Shut up,” Dave says as Chaz pushes past him. 

Releasing his hand, Klaus heads over towards Rivers’ cot. It hasn’t been repurposed yet, so it’s just as he left it nearly a month ago. His things have all been shipped home along with his body, so it’s the only bare spot in the entire tent. Klaus starts poking around. 

Klaus starts poking around the footlocker, nudging it with his foot. Dave stands by to watch, mystified. 

“Really?” Klaus says to himself. “That’s actually clever. Wish I’d thought of it; would’ve served me great as a teenager - not that I’m not already an expert at hiding contraband.”

“Thought of what?” Dave asks. 

Straightening and stepping back, Klaus points at the cot. “Legs are hollow,” he says. “It’s where Rivers hid all the stuff he didn’t want anyone to find. Clever bastard.” 

Dave’s eyes narrow. “That seems almost too easy,” he says, kneeling down next to the side of the cot Klaus points him to. “Why wouldn’t he tell you to find this earlier?” 

Klaus has moved back to the next cot over, leaning back on his hands as he watches Dave. “He said he didn’t want us to see the letters his mom wrote, but I think he’s just shy.” 

“Convenient,” Dave mumbles to himself. The legs of the cot are hollow, but there are metal caps on the ends, probably so no jungle spiders can make their homes inside. It _would_ be a decent hiding place if someone could get the cap off. 

Sliding a fingernail under the cap, Dave pulls up ever so slightly - and the metal cap pops right off. Honestly, Dave’s first thought is less surprised and more resigned, because of _course_ their equipment is falling the fuck apart. 

Surprise kicks in a second later. He hadn’t really expected that, to be honest. A little bead of dread forms in the bottom of his chest. Dave glances back at Klaus, who’s watching almost impatiently. “Go on,” Klaus urges. 

Grimacing, Dave slips a finger into the hollow tube. The night’s been full of surprises, but if Klaus was right about the hiding place, then he shouldn’t be shocked about the fact that there _is_ something inside. Dave blinks, pinching the rolled up piece of paper and pulling it out, unfolding it in his hands. 

It’s actually more like twenty pieces of paper - some of them covered in River’s scratchy handwriting, or his mother’s neat cursive. Loose pieces of water stained paper covered front and back with cartoonish doodles that are actually pretty good. Straightening, Dave sits on the cot opposite Klaus, still leafing through the pages. “Oh my god,” he says. “This is everything we couldn’t find for weeks. How did you know it was there?” 

“I didn’t.” 

Dave looks up. Klaus is smiling tightly, but his eyes look nervous. “You didn’t,” Dave repeats. 

Klaus stares at him for a good few seconds of tense silence, like he’s gauging Dave’s reaction before he even says anything. “Rivers told me.” 

Dave blinks. He feels a little lightheaded and the panic he’d put off after Chaz’s revelation is coming back. “That night you ODed,” Dave says, licking his lips. “When Rivers and I found you. What happened?” 

Klaus glances to the space to his right. He says nothing, waiting for a response from the air … or, Rivers’ ghost, apparently. Klaus smiles in response to something, but it looks thin and humorless, then turns to Dave and says, “You woke Rivers up at three in the morning and dragged him out in the rain because you didn’t know where my little junkie ass went to hide. You told him that you kept track of your boys.” 

Dave had never told anyone about that conversation. It had never needed to be mentioned. The only other person who had known about it was Adrian Rivers, who is (and this is a fact Dave is very, very certain about) dead. 

“Oh my god,” Dave says, lightheaded. 

Klaus sighs, standing and putting his hands in his pockets. “No, I’ve seen this before,” he says, and it takes Dave a second to realize he’s _talking to a ghost._ “Depends on the person, really. Didn’t think Dave would bluescreen so hard.” 

Dave is glad he’s sitting, because otherwise he might black out. Everything is running through his head, every interaction he’s ever had with Klaus, every distant look he’s ever noticed in his eye. When he’d said, months ago, that he was haunted by his past in a very literal way, when he’d said he kept seeing the ghost of the boy he’d killed—fuck, he’d _told_ Dave he saw the dead on his third month! 

“Three separate occasions,” Dave says, still lost in his own head. 

He’s vaguely aware of Klaus sighing and saying, “We can talk when you’re done with your existential crisis. I’m going outside. I … need some air.” 

Dave doesn’t move from where he’s still sitting on the cot. He’s always been a little bit agnostic. Growing up Jewish had removed him a step from his God-fearing Christian neighbors. The Jewish idea of afterlife was always kind of a shrug and a “who knows!”, so he’d never been convinced of the idea of heaven or hell. But … Klaus can see the dead. Or talk to them, at least. Literal proof of life after death. The theological implications of that alone are overwhelming. 

Groaning, Dave buries his head in his hands. No wonder Klaus was high all the time. He has no ideas how it works, but if the dead look like they do when they die, Klaus must be surrounded by bloody corpses. And … Rivers. Dave had seen Rivers’ body—had _been_ there, had been the one to tell everyone else what had happened. Klaus said he talked to Rivers. _Haunted by his past in a very literal way._ Melodramatic son of a bitch. 

It takes a minute for the world to steady itself, but when it does, Dave stands up, abandoning the letters on the cot and making his way to the front of the tent. He throws the flap aside, prepared to go chasing after Klaus, but Klaus is just sitting on a crate outside the tent, legs pulled up and crossed. He looks a little surprised. 

Snubbing out his cigarette, he asks, “You done freaking out?” 

There’s a hundred things Dave wants to say— _why didn’t you tell me sooner_ being one of them, followed closely by _I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you_ and _what the fuck, Klaus._ Dave settles for, “You really see them?” 

“Yup,” Klaus says, popping the P. He stretches his legs out, scooting over on the crate and patting the space beside him. Dave sits. “Where’s Bruce Willis when you need him, right?” 

Dave doesn’t get the joke, but he knows Klaus’ brand of deflection. “I am so sorry I didn’t believe you,” he says, searching Klaus’ face. 

Klaus shrugs, smiling. “I’m not surprised. It’s crazy, even for me.” 

Laughing a little incredulously, Dave says, “I keep preaching that you can tell me things, and you have and I didn’t believe you. Why didn’t you shut me up?” 

Klaus’ face softens. He reaches out to take Dave’s hand. “I know why you didn’t believe me,” he says. “Even my own family doesn’t sometimes, and they know I see the dead.”

“Bit of a tangent, but everything I hear about your family makes me want to kick their asses.” Klaus laughs, finally sounding like he’s relaxing. He sobers, but there’s still a hint of a smile. Hesitantly, Dave asks, “Are they … like you?” 

“They can’t see the dead, if that’s what you mean. They have their own brand of crazy.” 

“I’m afraid to ask,” Dave jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

Klaus hums. “I guess the weirdest is Ben—or was, anyway.” 

“He’s dead?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Dave glances around like he’ll be able to spot the ghost if he tries hard enough. He recognizes the name; it isn’t the first time Klaus has said it, but it’s the first he’s actually elaborated. “Is he here?” 

“No,” Klaus says. “Haven’t seen him since I got here. Hate to say it, but the break is nice. All he does is criticize.” 

Dave coughs, ducking his head. He’s afraid to ask because he’s terrified of the answer, but he has to know. Running his hand through his curls, Dave says, “And, uh, Rivers? Why is he … haunting you?” 

“‘Cause he’s bored, mostly,” Klaus says. He fishes around in a pocket for a cigarette. Speaking around his, he starts patting his pockets for a lighter. “Really, I love the kid, but holy shit, I could do without his questions about metaphysics at two in the morning.” 

Dave hands him a lighter out of habit and Klaus flashes him a wink. “He doesn’t haunt you because he’s angry?” 

“No,” Klaus says with a confused grin. “You knew the kid, right? Never got mad at anything.” 

“I thought he might be angry at me,” Dave confesses. 

Understanding passes over Klaus’ face and he reaches out, cupping Dave’s jaw. “I wasn’t lying when I told you he didn’t blame you,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.” 

Choking on sudden tears, Dave says, “I don’t think I would have been ready to hear it.” 

Wordlessly, Klaus pulls him close and kisses his cheek before Dave buries his face in Klaus’ shoulder. It doesn’t really absolve Dave of any guilt, but at least he has the comfort of knowing— _really_ knowing—Rivers didn’t blame him. Ducking his head to scrub tears off his face, Dave forces a smile and says, “Got any other crazy, world-changing revelations?” 

It’s a joke, but the look on Klaus’ face gives Dave pause. Klaus lets out a long breath. “Yes,” he says. “But let’s save the life-altering bombs for another time, alright? Maybe like, one a month.” 

“You have that many?” Dave asks weakly. 

“Guess it depends on what you consider life-altering.” Klaus forces a smile. “Sorry you got stuck with crazy.” 

Dave finds Klaus’ hand between the two of them and squeezes it tight, bringing it to his lips to kiss. “Oh, Klaus,” he murmurs. “I don’t care if it’s crazy. You think I didn’t know I was getting on a wild ride when I decided I wanted to be with you?” 

“It’s a bit wilder than a boy wearing eyeliner and acting a bit fey,” Klaus points out. “This is a different level of fucked.” 

Pulling Klaus into another hug, Dave says, “I don’t care if it’s crazy you can see ghosts. The world is crazy. Life is crazy. This is just … a unique speedbump.” 

Klaus ducks his head against Dave’s shoulder, burying his fingers in Dave’s shirt. Quietly, he says, “Thought you wouldn’t want me when you found out. That’s why I didn’t try to tell you.” 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you the first time,” Dave says. “I should have. It was wrong of me to write you off.” 

Klaus makes a noise, clinging closer to Dave. “What did I do to deserve you?” he rasps. 

“I don’t know,” Dave says, thinking the same thing. “If today has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t know jack shit about the world. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s not. All I care about is that I have you now.” 

Klaus pulls away just enough to look Dave in the eye. “Very philosophical of you,” he says with a shaky laugh, and kisses Dave. 

It’s not the safest place to do this, considering they’re pretty out in the open, but Dave just can’t find it in himself to care. The day has been wild. Dave needs physical comfort just as much as Klaus does. It can’t go past kissing, but it’s not like the past five minutes they spent holding each other looked exactly _platonic._

“By the way,” Dave says when Klaus pulls away. “When I meet your family, I’m going to have words with them.” 

Klaus laughs. “Oh? What would those be?” 

“Fishing for compliments?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Well,” Dave says, running his hands through his hair. “How smart you are, for one. How you’re the only one who can ever make Flores laugh. That you’re a devil behind a machine gun and braver than half the other guys in the battalion.” 

Klaus smiles. “Now you’re just stroking my ego.” 

“Among other things I’d like to be stroking later,” Dave says, and Klaus laughs at that until his face is flushed. 

“I’m a bad influence on you,” he says, shoulders still shaking with the occasional laugh. Klaus leans back on his hands, still smiling. “Thank you.” 

“What for?” 

“For believing me, I guess. For being there for me.” 

Dave thinks about everything Klaus has seen and done, things that Dave will never be able to understand. He nudges Klaus’ foot with the toe of his boot. “You know why I did,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Klaus says. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully the next chapter will be out much sooner. im excited for it! there's going to be some fun stuff. 
> 
> thanks again to my beta, bob_fish.


	9. Month Eight - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i really cannot express how sorry i am that this took so long to get out to you. It was never my intention to take such a long break, and I hesitate to use that word because i was writing almost every day and the chapter just wasnt coming together. it got to be so long that i had to split it in order to get it out to you guys instead of keeping you waiting even longer, so i really hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> if any of you ever want to contact be, my tumblr is Fanthings. feel free to drop by and leave an ask, or a comment here! 
> 
> as a last note, i need to thank my beta bob_fish for her tireless cheerleading, especially when i was feeling badly about this chapter. please go check out her TUA fic, Out of The Woods! it's seriously so good for ensemble drama and character development.

Klaus isn’t quite sure who talks, but it doesn’t take long for the rumor about Klaus’ powers to spread around camp. 

Dave is really the only person who’s given Klaus the time of day since he told his friends about his powers. Evidently, Chaz and Andrews are finished with him—and, as far as Klaus knows, Chaz is pissed at Dave anyway, so there’s no love lost. It’s not exactly a surprise, though Klaus had hoped otherwise. He’s used to people writing him off. Really, the only thing Klaus really cares about is that Dave believes him.

After what Dave saw in the tent that night, it’s safe to say he does. The night following Klaus’ confession, they slip off together to talk, among other things. “So,” Dave whispers in the darkness of their usual hideout, arms warm against Klaus’ chest. Klaus leans back into him, eyes closing. “Are you alone right now?”

Klaus gently pinches Dave’s thigh. “Nope, you’re real.” 

Dave laughs quietly. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

Klaus does. Sighing, he leans forward, shifting out from under Dave’s arms and moving around to face him. He knew this conversation was coming. Chin in his hands, he says, “Yeah, I am. _We_ are.” 

Dave coughs, looking away. Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “I guess I didn’t think about that.” 

Klaus smirks. “Getting shy?” 

“Klaus,” Dave protests. He puts his hand on Klaus’ knee and Klaus gives ground, like he always does. “Come on,” he says. “Will you talk to me about it?” 

“Drugs keep the ghosts away,” Klaus says simply. There’s no point in beating around the bush. He takes Dave’s other hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “And when it isn’t drugs, it’s Rivers.” 

“Rivers?” Dave says the name tentatively, like he’s afraid of it. Klaus nods and Dave winces. “What does he do?” 

“I have no idea,” Klaus says, smiling. “Yells at them, I think? He’s been itching for a fight since he—well, you know. I think playing bouncer gives him something to do other than mope.” 

“Does he mope a lot?” 

“Hey,” Klaus says, reaching out to touch Dave’s face. “Don’t look so sad. I already told you he doesn’t blame you.” 

Dave looks at him, sad. “And you believe him?” 

“He said it was his own fault,” Klaus says honestly. 

Biting his lip, Dave asks, “Can I … talk to him?” The question is jarring. Klaus blinks and Dave must take his silence for rejection because he starts backpedaling, eyes wide. “I mean, only if you want to. I wouldn’t—I mean, I get that it’s probably hard to look at him, considering how he died, but—” 

“You can,” Klaus interrupts. “I mean, you can’t see him, but I can get him.” 

“Oh.” Dave nods. It looks like he’s trying to assure himself. “Okay. Okay, uh. Cool.” 

Taking his hands back, Klaus folds his feet under himself criss-cross. “You sure?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Closing his eyes, Klaus starts to focus on Rivers’ name. It’s not manifesting—Klaus is still far from the sobriety he needs to be able to do that—but _something_ draws spirits to Klaus, and if Klaus thinks hard enough about it, sometimes he can call the right ghost. Flexing his fingers against his knees, Klaus murmurs, “Red Rover, Red Rover, let Adrian Rivers come over.” 

A beat where there’s nothing, and then— “Oh, God, if you guys are banging I’m going to find a way to rip my own eyeballs out of my head. I’ve already had to see your bare ass more times than I care to admit.” 

Klaus opens his eyes, grinning. Rivers is sitting on the far end of the back seat, the hand of his that’s mostly still put together clamped over his own eyes. “Oh, thank you for joining us,” Klaus says. “No, we aren’t banging. Though I was hoping to change that.” He flashes a wink at Dave, whose face darkens. 

Rivers peels his hand off his face, looking between the two of them warily. “Then why did you call me?” 

“Dave wants to talk to you.” 

“Oh.” Rivers shrugs. “Cool. The only people I’ve had to talk to since I’ve died are you or other ghosts. It’s a fucking nightmare.” 

“Tell me about it,” Klaus says dryly. Shaking his head, he turns to Dave and gestures at the far end of the jeep. “Well, he’s here. Talk away. I’ll be here to translate.” 

Dave runs a hand through his hair, glancing at the seat that’s unoccupied to his eyes. “Um,” he says. He glances at Klaus. “I just talk?” 

“Just talk,” Klaus confirms. Guessing that Dave is embarrassed, he says, “Hey, it’s only awkward for you. We aren’t alone in my eyes.” 

“Thanks,” Dave says dryly. Still sounding somewhat shy, he asks, “Rivers?” 

“Yes?” Rivers says pleasantly, and Klaus rolls his eyes, leaning back. 

“How’s, uh… the Afterlife, I guess?”

“Boring as fuck,” Rivers says. “There’s nothing to do except wander around.” 

Dave’s smile is watery and nervous when Klaus translates. He runs his hands through his hair, silent for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. “Does being dead hurt?” 

Rivers blinks, evidently stunned into silence by the question. “No,” he says after a moment. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” Looking away, he barrels on. “The only thing that hurts about being dead is walking in on you blowing-” 

“No!” Klaus says, face getting warm. He turns to Dave, choosing to ignore Rivers’ snickering. “He says he misses his good looks, since he’s stuck looking like a B-movie Freddy Krueger for all eternity.” 

Confusion flits across Dave’s face, but Klaus doesn’t have time to explain, because Rivers is speaking. “Fine, God. Yeah, it could be worse.” He trails off, arms crossing. “I miss you guys.” 

Klaus’ face falls. Dave stares at him as he repeats what Rivers had said, and there are tears in his eyes, threatening to slip down his cheeks. “Yeah,” Dave says. “I miss you, too. We all do.” 

“Listen,” Rivers says, sounding desperate. “It wasn’t your fault, and there’s no point in moping about it. I was stupid, I paid the price. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?” 

“That’s what Klaus keeps telling me.” 

“Well I hate to say it, but he’s right for once.” 

“Hey!” Klaus protests. “I’m right all the time! Dave, tell him!” 

Dave laughs, no doubt able to guess what Rivers had said. “Thanks, Rivers,” he says. 

“Can I let him go?” Klaus says, irritated. 

“Giving me the boot, right after you called me here? Rude.” 

Too sweetly, Klaus says, “Well, you can stick around, but only if you want a show.” The face Rivers makes is enough to give Klaus a laugh, and then he’s gone. Turning to Dave, Klaus says, “He left.” 

“Wow,” Dave says, grinning even though his eyes are shiny. “Never thought I’d have a conversation like that!” 

A part of him had been afraid that Dave didn’t really believe him, that Dave only felt bad for him and indulged the notion that Klaus could see ghosts. But Klaus knows Dave is a shitty liar, and he can’t fake tears like that. Reaching out, Klaus puts his hand on Dave’s arm. “Feel better?” 

“I do, actually.” Dave smiles, thumbing the corners of his eyes. He smiles. “Thank you.” 

Shrugging, Klaus says, “It’s what I’m here for.” 

“You’re here for a _lot_ more than just being a telephone to the other side,” Dave says, pulling Klaus into his lap. He strokes hair off Klaus’ forehead, pulling his face down to kiss him. “One time thing,” he says. “Cross my heart.” 

“The last thing I’m afraid of is you taking advantage of me,” Klaus says. “Or my powers. I might not like them, but I’ll put up with them for you.” A soft, genuine smile begins to form on Dave’s face, and it grows wider by the second. His arms tighten around Klaus’ waist and Klaus nudges Dave’s shoulder. “Sap,” he mutters, rolling his eyes and tilting his face up in an attempt to hide the blush on his cheeks. 

Dave laughs. “Kiss me?” he asks. 

“Oh, I guess,” Klaus says theatrically, but he’s smiling.

\---

Just because Klaus trusts Dave not to abuse the knowledge of his powers doesn’t mean he trusts everyone else. Now that they _know_ —or think that they know—it always feels like someone’s watching him. It makes life hell. Klaus is used to ghosts watching him, but there’s a difference between the eyes of the living and the dead. It doesn’t help Klaus’ nerves at all, and it gets harder to go off with Dave when everyone in camp is watching him like a hawk.

Everyone is predictably shitty about it. It takes about a day for some wiseguy to come up with the nickname _Casper,_ and then suddenly everyone else below the rank of Sergeant forgets how to say his last name and replaces it with Casper instead. Klaus fake laughs every time he hears it, and internally knocks off points for both unoriginality and the fact that the name doesn’t actually make any fucking sense at all. Honestly, if he ever gets his hands on whoever came up with it … 

When Dave hears it for the first time, they’re sitting piled up around a jeep, sharing a cigarette with each other before their group is back on the move through the jungle. “Hey, Casper, bum me a smoke, will you?” someone asks, then reaches out and grabs Klaus’ cigarette case anyway. 

Klaus doesn’t miss the way Dave ducks his head to hide a snort and he shoots him a betrayed look. “Davey,” he whines. He snatches the cigarette case back from the soldier, who chuckles and moves off. 

“Sorry,” Dave says, at least managing to look contrite for a few seconds. “It is a little funny.” 

“It is _not_ ,” Klaus says. He reaches out to snag the cigarette out from between Dave’s lips, takes a drag off of it, and then grinds it out on the hood of the jeep next to where he’s sitting. Dave laughs, leaning back. “First, it’s not even clever. I mean, I’d probably hate any kind of ghost derivative nickname, but I can suffer through it if it’s at least _funny,_ which Casper _isn’t,_ and second—I’m not a _fucking ghost!”_

Dave is laughing at his diatribe, and so are the other soldiers sitting near him, but Klaus isn’t any less incensed. “If you wanted to be accurate, I’d be like … drugged out Wendy Witch. _Fuck.”_

“Don’t make suggestions,” Dave says idly, smiling softly. “You might get stuck with something worse.” 

Klaus fakes a gag and crosses his arms. Dave is right. Whatever—this is probably just a fleeting thing and it will all be forgotten in a month or two. At least Klaus hopes it is. He really doesn’t want to get stuck being called Casper until the end of the tour. Another tally in Klaus’ long line of shitty names: better than Number Four, worse than the Seance, _far_ worse than Sunshine, but Dave is the only one who ever calls him that, and only when they’re alone. 

The soldier who’d grabbed a cigarette earlier swings back around and throws a too friendly arm around Klaus’ shoulders. Klaus grimaces and hunches his shoulders, but the soldier—his name tape reads Cody, and Klaus thinks the name suits him—says, “So, what, you’re saying you _do_ see ghosts?” 

He talks with that patronizing lilt that Klaus is oh so used to. Sighing, Klaus shrugs out from under his arm. This isn’t great timing, but he has been expecting it. He’s just been wishing it didn’t have to happen in front of an audience. 

“Guess it depends on who you ask,” Klaus says. “I either see ghosts, or I’m just crazy.” 

The people listening in laugh, but Klaus sees Dave’s smile fade a little. He pays it no mind, choosing instead to look at the ghost of a woman standing behind Cody. Klaus may not know the man very well, but he’s seen the woman plenty of times—hard to miss someone who reminds him so much of Grace, right down to the patent red heels. They've never spoken, but Klaus has always been curious about her. She doesn’t look very amused right now though, shooting daggers at Cody, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I dunno,” Cody says. “I could be convinced by crazy.” 

“What do you want?” Tearing his eyes away from the ghost, Klaus levels him with a look. This soldier obviously doesn’t believe him and Klaus just wants this conversation to be over with. 

Cody shrugs. “Kinda wanna see how full of bullshit you are.” 

“You’re such an ass,” the woman snaps. Ah. Not very much like Grace at all, then. 

From the corner of his eye, Klaus sees Dave open his mouth to retort, but Klaus catches his eyes and shakes his head just enough for him to see. He settles back, frown deepening, but Klaus is happy to see Dave letting him handle it. 

“So, let me guess,” Klaus says. “I can fail and prove you right, or refuse and prove you right? Excellent choices.” 

Cody chuckles, but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. “Well? What do you say?” 

Klaus sighs and stretches his arms over his head, back popping. He might as well make a show of it. It might dissuade others from pulling similar stunts. “Fine, fine,” he says, sitting up straight and pulling his legs up under him to a criss-cross. Cody snorts. Leaning on his knees, Klaus looks at the woman. If he didn't already know she was a ghost, he would've had a hard time telling. She looks just a touch too pale, delicate pin curls falling out around her face. She smiles at him. “There is a woman with you. Lady in a red dress—your wife? Sister? Mother?” 

Cody blinks. The woman cocks her head, looking faintly surprised, but at least she doesn’t waste time with the whole _you can see me?_ bullshit. “I’m his aunt,” she says. “Irene.” 

“Your aunt Irene,” Klaus says, and Cody’s shit-eating grin wavers. “I knew she couldn’t be your wife, she’s way too pretty for you.” 

Irene laughs, loud and delighted. Everyone watching is looking between Klaus and Cody, trying to judge what exactly the expression is on Cody’s face. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and loving that Irene sidles closer, leaning down to play along. Klaus asks, “How’d you die, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

“Overdose on sleeping pills,” Irene says, one hand shielding her mouth like she’s gossiping about who slept with who instead of talking about her own untimely death. It's a show that only they'll enjoy, but Klaus appreciates it all the same. “Accidental. I was only thirty-four.” 

“Overdose?” Klaus says, layering on the sympathy, and shooting a grin at Cody. “I can relate. Not a very glamorous way to go out, but we can’t all be winners.” 

Cody looks pale, his eyes wide. Even the other soldiers who’d been listening have raised eyebrows and confused expressions. It doesn’t seem like so much of a joke anymore. For a second, Klaus feels smug. Voice trembling when he finally speaks, Cody says, “That’s bullshit, man. You’ve been talking to my buddies or something.” 

“Or something,” Klaus agrees. “Are we done here, or …?” 

Cody’s face pinches and he turns, striding away with his shoulders hiked up around his ears. Everyone watches him go before glancing at Klaus. Slowly, they all return to their separate conversations, voices softer than before. 

The show is over. Looking at Irene, who hasn’t yet moved, Klaus asks quietly, “Out of curiosity, why _are_ you following him?” Dave, who has been watching with rapt attention the entire time, shuffles closer like he might be able to hear what Irene has to say. 

Irene shrugs. “Only family I have left, I suppose. Following him was better than ghosting around New Orleans. I took care of him when he was a boy after his parents died, so maybe there’s a bit of mother in me yet.” 

There’s probably a bit more to the story, but it won’t help to push her until she gets upset and attracts a crowd, so Klaus tips his head and falls silent. He fishes around in his pocket for something to smoke and Irene makes a jealous noise. “I miss smoking,” she laments. “Being dead isn’t much fun at all.” 

“At least you look better than any of these other sorry bastards,” Klaus mutters around his cigarette, nodding towards the other ghosts that are lingering nearby, staring at him. Most of them are dead soldiers or civilians. Klaus doesn’t look too long. Irene’s the nicest ghost he’s run into in a while—besides Rivers—so he can at least be polite. Klaus lets his eyes flick over her appreciatively, and she coos when he whispers, “Very Marilyn.” 

She flicks one of her blonde curls, grinning. “Well, don’t you know how to make a gal feel special?” Nodding at Dave, who’s looking a little lost, she says, “If you ever get tired of that sergeant of yours, come find me. I’m sure we could work something out.” 

Klaus grins, looking at Dave. “I don’t think that will happen anytime soon,” he says. “But thanks, I guess.” 

Irene strides off, an extra swing in her steps that makes Klaus snort and roll his eyes. Dave still looks bemused. Reaching out to graze Klaus’ elbow, Dave tips his head away from the majority of the soldiers and draws Klaus off his perch on the jeep. 

“That went better than I thought it would, all things considered,” Klaus says, once they’re a safe distance away. “Last time I did anything like that, I got punched.” 

“Aren’t you worried about what they’ll say?” Dave asks. 

Klaus hums. “Not really,” he says. “Last I checked, being weird wasn’t a dischargeable offense, unless they go to Flores and accuse me of dancing naked with the devil.” Dave snorts, ducking his head. He nudges Klaus in the ribs and Klaus pushes back, grinning. It can be grating when this is the extent of intimacy they’re allowed, but it’s enough, sometimes. Looking up at him, Klaus says, “Classic catch-22.” 

“Good point,” Dave says softly. “Just be careful, alright?” 

“Always,” Klaus says, flashing a smile. Between them, their hands graze each other, just barely. Crossing his arms to stamp down the temptation to take Dave’s hand, Klaus says, “That ghost was flirting with me, you know.” 

Dave’s eyebrows raise, smile growing on his lips. “Do I have competition, then?” 

“From a dead woman?” Klaus snorts. “Hardly. As on-brand as it would be for me to sleep with a ghost, I don’t think so. Plus, she reminds me a little too much of my mom, and I’m not touching that.” 

Dave laughs again and they fall into a companionable silence. After a moment of just listening to the noise of the jungle and the indistinct chatter of soldiers behind them, Dave says, “So is this better or worse than being back home?”

Klaus shoots him a quizzical look. “I don’t know about you, but I would take a real mattress over a cot any day.” 

“No,” Dave chuckles. He jerks his head back towards the soldiers. “I mean them. The whole ghost thing. You said that people back home don’t believe you.” 

The first obvious answer is that here in Vietnam is the best Klaus has felt in years, but that thought gets scrapped almost as soon as it pops into his head. As bad as he makes it sound, he hadn’t been completely written off by the world at large before this. He and his siblings _had_ been famous. Klaus hadn’t been as popular as Allison or even Ben, but people had believed his power. He’d been asked to communicate with them before, one notable occasion being on live television. _That_ was something that had never been repeated.

“Dunno,” Klaus says carefully. “Beats my siblings breathing down my neck twenty-four seven.” He’s mentioned his siblings plenty of times. Klaus thinks that Dave knows they’re all adopted, and he for sure knows that Klaus didn’t have a conventional upbringing, but it’s nothing substantial. Nothing about the Academy. Plus, there’s the unmissable fact that Klaus never hears from home and never sends any mail. Hitching his shoulders, Klaus says, “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“You said they were like you,” Dave says quietly. “That they were special.” Klaus nearly flinches at the use of that word. A muscle in his jaw tics, fingers digging into his arm. Dave’s lips press together and he looks away. “Sorry.” 

Scuffing his boot across the beaten grass underneath him, Klaus mutters, “It isn’t a happy story, Dave.” 

“Somehow, I think I knew that.”

“Do you remember when I said there were other world-shifting secrets?” Klaus asks. “This counts as one of them.” 

In a tone of voice Klaus would only call _half joking,_ Dave says, “On a scale of one to ten, how much crazier can it be than seeing the dead?” 

“That’s entirely up to you,” Klaus says softly. Then he scrubs his hands over his face, scratching at his beard which is quickly becoming overgrown. “Sorry, that sounded cryptic. God, I sound like my _dad._ But, really, Dave.” He touches Dave’s arm, fingers curling into the material of his fatigues. “I have no idea what you’ll think.” 

Dave’s hand closes over Klaus’ fingers. Gently, he says, “There’s only one way to find out.” 

“I don’t want to lie to you,” Klaus says, hating the way his voice catches and feeling very much like he’s lost control of the situation. He’s been doing a lot of this lately, dropping his careless facade for a moment of vulnerability that will leave him mortified later. Dave is always patient. 

“You aren’t lying, Klaus.” Dave squeezes his fingers and drops his hand. “You just aren’t ready, and that’s fine. I’ll be here when you are.” 

There are a lot of things Klaus wants to tell Dave, not the least of which being that he loves him. That seems to take precedence over anything else, but in that moment, Klaus can’t say it. Instead, he settles for a quiet “Okay.”

Dave pats him on the shoulder, hand lingering for a moment longer than it needs to. They both turn to walk back to the group, and not long after that they’re on the move again. Klaus keeps thinking about it as they march, even to the point of distraction, and the looks Dave keeps giving him don’t help. 

Later, after Dave has fallen asleep with his helmet pulled low over his eyes, Klaus looks at him and prays that when the time comes, he’ll know what to say.

\---

Since finding the letters stashed in Rivers’ hiding spot, Klaus hadn’t really had a chance to go through them for longer than a few cursory seconds. Now that he has the opportunity, he’s torn between regretting his promise to Rivers and wishing he’d sat to go through the collection earlier.

“You know,” he says to Rivers, who’s hovering nervously over his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve seen so many drawings of tits ever in once place.” 

“You’re just bitter that they’re tits and not—” 

Klaus cuts him off, picking up one that’s half finished and says, “Is this supposed to be MJ from the Spider-Man comics? She’s way out of your league.” 

Rivers fidgets. With false nonchalance, he says, “I prefer Jean Grey from the X-Men. Can you hurry it up please? This is embarrassing.” 

“Don’t be ashamed of your art,” Klaus says mildly. He puts the risque sketch of MJ in the pile of papers Rivers has vetoed sending home to his family. It’s mostly raunchy and/or comically violent doodles. Some are pencil sketches that Klaus had seen recreated on Rivers’ helmet in permanent marker. It’s really a shame his gear had been collected, because the vintage-looking nose-art style pin-ups he’d drawn on it were actually pretty good. 

It’s a little hard to see in the glow of Klaus’ solitary kerosene lamp, but coming to the mess after it had long been abandoned was the only way Klaus could give Rivers the privacy he wanted. It’s been raining for hours, making everyone miserable and unsociable. Klaus hadn’t even seen Dave since that morning, when their duties had pulled them to opposite ends of the camp. With any luck, the VC are just as uncomfortable as everyone else. They might get a good night’s rest that way. 

The entrance to the tent rustles and Klaus looks up. 

“Hey,” Dave says, pushing his rain soaked hair back off his forehead. “What are you doing in here? I’ve been looking for you all over.” 

Klaus lifts the papers he has yet to go through. “Favor for Rivers,” he says. “Thought it’d be easier, but somehow I keep getting distracted.” 

Leaning over Klaus’ shoulder, Dave grabs the ‘veto’ pile and flips through it. He whistles. “Wow,” he says, sounding mildly impressed. “Very prolific.” 

“Hey!” Rivers complains, swatting a ghostly hand through Dave’s arm as he shuffles through the scraps of paper. Klaus chuckles. “No one said you could look at those!” 

“I’ve never been with a woman, so I can’t really say, but I don’t think they bend this way.” 

“It’s a figure study,” Rivers says mulishly. 

Dave squints. “Am I crazy, or do a lot of these girls look like Veronica from the Archie comics?” He drops his hand to show Klaus and Klaus stifles a grin. He’s right—most of the girls in the drawings are long haired brunettes, all in various raunchy poses. It’s all vaguely cartoonish, but still skillfully drawn. “Like, a _lot.”_

If it was possible for ghosts to blush, Rivers would be. He crosses his arms, looking at the ceiling. “Klaus, c’mon.” 

Klaus isn’t done having his fun. He snags one from Dave’s hands. “I’m not an artist, Rivers, but I don’t think this is anatomically possible,” he says. 

“Listen, a guy can only look at the same dirty magazine so many times before it gets boring. I have to use my brain for some things. A guy has to entertain himself _somehow.”_

__

__

“And you chose _Veronica?”_

“I like brunettes!” Rivers snaps while Dave tilts his head back and laughs. “See, you two are lucky that you get to get off with each other. The rest of us schmucks are stuck with our right hands and a little fuckin’ imagination.” 

Snickering, Klaus folds up the doodle he’d been looking at and says, “I think Rivers is a little sensitive.” 

Dave bites his lip. Handing back the drawings, he says, “I guess I would be too if I could only get off to Veronica Lodge.” 

“You two are so mean!” Rivers howls. “Ginger from Gilligan’s Island is in there way more, first of all, and second, you’re totally focusing on the wrong thing.” 

When Klaus has stopped laughing, he gathers up the letters and tucks them all into a pocket on his pants. “Fine,” he sighs, unable to completely kill his smile. “But you owe me later.” 

“Owe you for not continuing the harassment of a dead man?” Rivers asks, shifting to the side so Dave doesn’t pass through him when he sits next to Klaus and rests his chin on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around Klaus’ waist, pulling them flush together. 

“Yeah. It’s just so easy to make fun of you.” Klaus slides the approved letters into an envelope that’s already stamped and addressed to one Carmen Alvarez in Oxnard, California. At Klaus’ quizzical glance, Rivers had just said, “What? She didn’t take my dad’s name when they got married.” 

A drop of water rolls off Dave’s curls and slips down Klaus’ back. He shivers, nudging Dave in the stomach. Dave’s arms tighten around his middle. “You’re soaked,” Klaus says, not really complaining because he’s missed Dave all day and he can handle a little damp. 

"If you hadn't been hiding, I wouldn't have had to run all over camp looking for you," Dave murmurs. 

“I like playing hard to get,” Klaus says. Dave hums, resting his chin on Klaus’ shoulder. When Klaus twists around to look at him, he finds that Dave’s eyes are closed. Softening, Klaus says, “Long day?” 

“Better now that I’m with you,” Dave murmurs. 

“Flatterer.” 

“You two talk a lot of shit for two guys who can’t be in the same room for five minutes without making sex eyes at each other,” Rivers snaps. Klaus ignores him. He groans and then vanishes, leaving Klaus and Dave in blissful silence. 

Their noses brush together as Dave leans forward just enough to kiss him. Really, Klaus wants nothing more than to continue this, but he pulls away. An involuntary whine escapes Dave’s mouth. Klaus grins as he stands. “Not very discreet, mister. What if someone comes looking?” 

“I’ll have you know that I timed myself _very_ strategically.” Hooking his fingers into Klaus’ belt loops, Dave pulls him close. He says with a grin, “I left during mail call to go find you. No one seemed to care since they were, y’know, opening all their mail.” 

“Subtle,” Klaus laughs, tilting Dave’s face up to kiss him again. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it takes half an hour to find someone.” 

“Forty-five minutes,” Dave says. Klaus laughs again, putting his hands on Dave’s shoulders. This time Dave sighs theatrically and gets to his feet. Klaus wraps his arms around Dave’s neck. “Fine,” Dave murmurs, but can’t seem to help himself from going back in for one last kiss—which, of course, turns into two or three more. It _is_ dangerous to be necking and tugging on clothes in what might as well be the open, but neither of them can really find it in themselves to care when the world is as soft and dark as it is right now. 

When Klaus slides a teasing hand under Dave’s shirt, Dave catches his wrist with gentle fingers and softly reminds him, “I thought you didn’t want this to turn into a suspicious half-hour disappearance?” 

“I thought you promised me forty-five minutes?” Dave raises his eyebrows, an indulgent smile ticking his lips up and Klaus bites his bottom lip in an attempt to conceal his grin. He steps back, combing his fingers through his hair. Gesturing towards the front, Klaus says, “Lead the way, Billy Ward.” 

That at least gets Dave to laugh. Together they head out, a respectably friendly distance between them. It’s still raining, a soft misty drizzle that makes everything both damp and far too humid. It’s shaping up to be a quiet night throughout the valley. The tent they share with their platoon is little more than a golden glow in the dim evening rain, but at least it’s dry. 

The soldiers inside don’t pay much attention to them as they enter other than a brief cursory glance. Most of them are sitting huddled next to low-lit kerosene lamps, reading or writing letters or flipping through the occasional book. Klaus heads to the footlocker shoved under his cot and starts pulling Rivers’ letters out of his pockets to stash them. Behind him, Dave falls into his own bed with a groan. 

“Hey,” a less than friendly voice says. Both Dave and Klaus look up. Chaz is standing at the foot of Dave’s cot, tapping a letter on the heel of his palm. He tosses it at Dave, who barely manages to sit up and catch it. “You missed mail call.” His eyes linger on Dave first, then on Klaus, eyebrows furrowed. Klaus is aware that none of them are exactly on speaking terms, but he has no idea how to interpret that look. 

Dave doesn’t seem to notice—or at least he doesn’t care if he does. He runs the edge of the letter Chaz had pushed at him across the heel of his palm instead of opening it. “Not excited about hearing from home?” Klaus asks, sitting on his own cot and kicking his feet up. 

“I am,” he says, picking at the corner of the envelope. “I’m just not keen on hearing that Martha-we-used-to-know gained five pounds or that Sally Ranger from down the road is _still_ single.” 

“Am _I_ the one with competition?” Klaus asks quietly, grinning when Dave rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, ‘cause she’ll have any luck with _that,”_ he mutters under his breath, sliding a finger under the envelope flap to rip it open. Klaus has never cared much about mail call since he never gets anything, but it does offer a while where all the soldiers are absorbed in news about home. Usually, he and Dave can run off for a few uninterrupted hours since no one will miss them, but it seems there’s no time for that today. 

It’s peaceful anyway, just listening to the low murmur of voices of soldiers who are content for once. Reaching over, Klaus nudges Dave’s elbow with a drowsy hand. “How’s Sally Ranger?” he asks. There’s no answer. Prying open his eyes, Klaus looks up at Dave. 

Dave’s hands are clenched around the edges of the letter so hard that the paper is creased. It trembles in his hands. His jaw is clenched, a muscle ticing in his cheek. Klaus sits up, putting a hand on Dave’s shoulder. Almost immediately, Dave shoves the letter at his chest and slips out from under Klaus’ hand, storming out of the tent. General chatter dies as he leaves. 

Klaus stares after him, wide eyed and stunned. Dave doesn’t _get_ mad. Klaus has seen Dave genuinely angry maybe three times in all the time they’ve known each other; he has no idea what could’ve set him off. Blinking, Klaus looks down to where he’s clutching Dave’s letter to his chest. The edges are crushed, neat cursive lettering smeared here and there by what looks like teardrops. Dread settles heavy in Klaus’ chest and he gets to his feet, folding the letter and tucking it in his back pocket. Several of the other soldiers who had seen Dave go are looking at him now, gesturing at the front as if to say, _Go fix him, Hargreeves._ Klaus doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Unfortunately, Dave had gotten a head start. It’s hard to spot anything through the oppressive drizzle of rain that seems to have no intention of clearing, but Klaus thinks he sees the broad line of Dave’s shoulder moving off in the distance, Klaus stars walking. “Dave?” he calls, hunching his shoulders as he passes through the trickle of water streaming off the tarp strung over the tent. 

Dave doesn’t turn around. He disappears around the corner of a building and a second later, there’s a crash and a muffled shout. Eyes widening, Klaus breaks into a run, slipping around the corner and skidding to a stop. Dave is leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched, his bloodied right hand curled into a loose fist. Blood mixes with the rain, dripping down his fingers where mottled bruises are already starting to form. The wall next to him is splintered. 

He looks up at Klaus, face haggard. “Oh,” Klaus breathes, reaching out to take his hand. He doesn’t flinch as Klaus runs his thumb over the scrapes on his knuckles. “I think you broke your fingers, baby.” 

“I don’t care,” Dave says wearily. His eyes slip closed, head falling back to thud against the flimsy wooden wall of the building. He doesn’t seem willing to say much more. 

Confused, Klaus reaches into his back pocket where he’d stuffed the letter. He smooths it out, sheltering it against the rain so the ink won’t become more smeared than it already is. Klaus has to squint to make out the words. _Davey,_ the letter starts out. _I assume you already know about your brother. The army men came to our door two weeks ago to tell us he was dead._

Klaus bites the inside of his mouth, stuffing the letter into his vest. It isn’t his place to know. Reaching out to Dave, he curls his fingers around the back of Dave’s neck, pulling him forward so he can rest his forehead on Klaus’ shoulder. Dave’s breath hitches and he hides his face in the crook of Klaus’ neck. A moment later his shoulders start to shake. Klaus has never seen Dave cry before. Just the thought of it is wrong. But nobody can be strong all the time, and Dave had been there for Klaus too many times to count. It’s the least he can do to be there for him now. 

Dave grips him like a lifeline, a muffled sob breaking out from between his lips. Klaus hushes him, running his fingers through Dave’s hair. It’s lucky that this had to happen now, when everyone is preoccupied and it’s late and raining. Klaus wants Dave to be able to grieve without the fear of judgement. 

He remembers how numb he’d felt when he learned that Ben had died. Klaus hadn’t even been home—he’d been on the street, buying drugs, already high. When he’d come back around, Ben was there, inexplicably. It didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. It was pointless, but Klaus had never stopped feeling guilty, thinking that if he’d been there, maybe he could have done something. 

“I’m so sorry, Dave,” Klaus murmurs, his own eyes getting blurry with tears. “I really am.” 

Dave rasps, “Is he here?” Klaus bites his lip. Pulling away, Dave lifts his head and grabs Klaus’ biceps, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. “Is he here?” he repeats. 

Klaus looks around. It’s impossible to tell if the shadows in the rain are ghosts or living soldiers. Either way, Klaus doesn’t see anyone that looks close to Dave’s brother. He’s certain he would’ve noticed Michael hanging around anyway, especially if he’s been dead for _weeks._ “No,” Klaus says softly. “I don’t see him.” 

“Why?” Dave asks, his voice catching. He looks frantic. From where his right hand is gripping Klaus’ shoulder, he can feel it shaking, leaving a bloody smear on Klaus’ skin. “Can’t you get him? You can get Rivers, why not him?” 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Klaus says, trying to keep his voice level. He’s never felt worse about his drug habit than he does in that moment. If summoning Michael could give Dave even the barest hint of closure, Klaus would do it in a heartbeat. “It used to, but not anymore.” 

“No,” Dave says. “There has to be a mistake, right? He’d be here if it were true, or they would have told me!” 

The unfortunate truth is that while Dave is right, telegrams and non-urgent messages get lost all the time. They probably _did_ try to tell him and the note was lost in transit. From the look on Dave’s face, he knows that too. His face falls, a fresh wave of tears slipping down his cheeks. 

Klaus grabs his hands, giving the uninjured one a squeeze. “I’ll look for him,” he promises. “I’ll tell Rivers too, okay? Dave, look at me.” Dave doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, so Klaus touches his chin until his eyes flick up. “You’ll be okay,” he says softly, kissing his knuckles. Tugging on his left hand, Klaus adds, “Come on. You need a nap and a drink, I think.” 

Dave follows without complaint, scrubbing his face with the heel of his palm. It’s late enough that no one really bothers them during their trek through the mud. The rain makes everything softer, reducing soldiers to soft charcoal smudges and a little cigarette glow. The jungle sounds silent and Klaus prays that for once, there’s nothing that will have them jumping up with the rattle of bombs chasing their heels. 

Despite his listless face, Dave grips onto Klaus’ fingers with desperate strength. There’s no way Klaus is letting him go back to the other soldiers when he’s obviously been crying and looks like he might start again any second, so he pulls him towards the back of an unoccupied, covered M25 truck. 

“I’ll be fine,” Dave grunts, his voice raspy and thick with tears. Klaus can’t tell if he’s embarrassed by his tears or not. He doesn’t seem keen to meet Klaus’ eyes either way. Klaus kisses his forehead anyway and slips back out under the tarp. Experience tells him there’s usually a minor first aid kit stashed in the cab. It doesn’t take much work to jimmy the lock and steal it. He doesn’t really want to run into the doctor either and risk explaining why he’s taking what he is. 

When Klaus comes back, Dave hasn’t stirred from where he’s sitting hunched over with his elbows braced on his knees. Klaus sits next to him and leans on his shoulder. Quietly, he says, “Let me see your hand.” 

Dave passes it over and then almost immediately wrenches it back as Klaus prods at his injured fingers. “Dave,” Klaus says gently after Dave’s growl of pain. Grumbling, Dave gives him back his hand. Klaus turns it back and forth, eyeing it clinically. Purple and green bruises mottle his hand, the middle two fingers especially. Probably cracked, not broken: Klaus has dealt with his own fair share of broken bones, so even if his bedside manner is lacking, he knows how to take care of Dave. 

He hisses out a breath when Klaus starts bandaging them with gauze from the field medicine kit he’d snagged from the front of the truck, but he doesn’t yank his hand back again, so it’s a start. When Klaus is finished, he lifts Dave’s injured hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. Dave sniffs. Klaus’ eyes flick up. 

Dave is staring at their hands, eyes glossy with tears. Klaus has never been good at comforting people; he never knows when to talk, or how to say the right thing, so he just pulls Dave close instead and lets Dave cry into his shirt. With a shudder, Dave sobs and clings to Klaus’ body. Klaus hushes him, running his hands through Dave’s hair, hiding Dave’s face in the curve of his arm like it might be able to shelter him from the pain. 

With the combination of Klaus’ hands and the gentle patter of rain on the tarp above them, Dave’s sobs subside to sniffling, and then cease entirely. His breathing deepens. A sigh slips out from between Klaus’ lips and his head falls back to rest against the side of the truck. With the hand that isn’t being pinned by Dave’s weight, Klaus scrubs over his tired face—and, surprised, realizes that he’s been crying too. 

Careful not to wake Dave from his much needed nap, Klaus adjusts his head so it’s not in such an awkward position. Dave’s breath ghosts across his neck. He instinctively seems to curl in towards Klaus, head slipping from Klaus’ shoulder to rest on his chest. Klaus wipes the tears off his cheeks with his free hand, keeping the other wrapped securely around Dave’s shoulders. “Michael fucking Katz,” Klaus hisses to the darkness. “You better come talk to your brother.” 

Closing his eyes, Klaus focuses on what he can remember about Michael and tries to pull him over. Nothing happens. He grits his teeth. It works well enough with Rivers, but Klaus isn’t good enough at calling ghosts to know why it isn’t working. Maybe he has enough of a residual high to ward off other ghosts, or Because Michael didn’t have any connection to Klaus—or maybe even because ghosts could ignore the call. That would be news to Klaus. Maybe all three—either way, it isn’t working. 

In any other scenario, the silence would be blissful. Klaus hadn’t known Michael that well. They’d had one _terrible_ conversation when Dave thought it would be a good idea to leave them alone in the bar, where Michael had put one heavy hand on Klaus’ shoulder and said, “I don’t think I like the picture of you and my brother together.” 

Klaus had really wanted to tell him in no uncertain terms to _get fucked,_ but he was trying to make a good impression, so he’d just said, “Dave doesn’t need your permission to make friends.” 

“But he is my little brother,” Michael had said, that hand heavy and oppressive on Klaus’ shoulder, thumb pressing just hard enough on Klaus’ collarbone to be uncomfortable. “And I want to keep him safe. We clear?” 

There was really nothing more to say. 

Klaus had resigned himself to a rocky future with the in-laws, but then Michael had died, apparently, and he hadn’t chosen to stick around. Klaus knows people don’t like their in laws, but _Jesus._ He could have some fucking class. Klaus hasn’t seriously considered getting sober to summon a ghost since before even Dad died, but he’d do it now, if only for the opportunity to chew Michael out—but mostly to make Dave happy. 

There are other theories, of course. Maybe Michael really _isn’t_ dead and it’s a mistake, but that’s pretty unlikely. Maybe he’s preoccupied with the rest of his family, and not Dave—Klaus would have _opinions_ about that. Or, somewhat more frightening, that Michael _has_ visited, and Klaus just didn’t notice. Either Rivers really is good at keeping ghosts away, Klaus was high, or they’d been preoccupied—which is, unfortunately, entirely plausible. If Michael didn’t like him a month ago, walking in on Klaus and his _little brother_ in bed together wouldn’t exactly put Klaus in anybody’s good graces. But hey—it wasn’t like he could tell the rest of the family. Who says you don’t get second chances? 

Sighing, Klaus continues to run his fingers through Dave’s hair until his own eyes slip shut. He doesn’t sleep so much as he dozes, aware of only the sound of the rain and the feeling of Dave’s chest rising and falling under his hand. It almost startles Klaus when Dave eventually does stir, breathing quickening as he lifts his head to replace it on Klaus’ shoulder. Drowsily, Klaus drops a kiss on top of his curls and places his cheek on top of Dave’s head. “Feeling all right?” 

“Head hurts,” Dave mutters after a beat of weary silence. One hand slides across his face. He moves to get up. “Sorry for crying all over you.” 

“Nope,” Klaus says, tightening his grip on Dave’s shoulders. With his free hand, he links their fingers together. “Boyfriend obligations. You have to let me hold you.” 

Dave’s laugh sounds exhausted, but it’s better than nothing. Comfort has always been a bit of a mystery to Klaus, both in the art of giving it and receiving it, but he hopes what he’s doing is enough. Shifting against Klaus’ shoulder, Dave asks softly, “That wasn’t just a bad dream, was it?” 

“No.” 

This time when Dave moves to get up, Klaus lets him, watching helplessly as he leans on his knees and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I feel like shit,” he mutters into his palms. 

Klaus reaches out to touch Dave’s shoulder. “I know.” 

“Yeah.” Dave lifts his head, fingers pressed over his mouth. “I guess you would.” There’s a moment where Klaus has no idea what to say, and then Dave snorts a humorless laugh. “I keep thinking that they got it wrong, that I should’ve been told, but… I’m not surprised, I guess. I think part of me expected it, I just didn’t expect to outlive him.” 

That makes Klaus wince and bite the inside of his cheek, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re soldiers, after all, and fatalistic viewpoints are kind of standard. Instead, he says, “I’m sorry,” because there’s nothing else to say, even if _I’m sorry_ feels so hollow. 

Dave turns to him, mustering a smile. He looks so tired. Tilting Klaus’ chin up, Dave presses a kiss first against his lips and then on his cheek, then pulls him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“What for?” Klaus asks, leaning into his embrace. He doesn’t really feel like he’d done much to warrant a thank you. 

“Being you,” Dave says. Pulling back, he cups Klaus’ face in his hand and smiles. It looks genuine, if a little sad. “I … don’t know what I would do without you.” 

The words I love you are right there on the tip of Klaus’ tongue, but he doesn’t say them, choosing instead to kiss Dave again. “You’re strong,” Klaus rasps. “I’m sure you’d figure it out.” 

“If it’s the same to you, I’d rather not.” Dave seems reluctant to leave their little corner of privacy, but he strokes the side of Klaus’ face and pulls back. The sudden absence of his presence is aching, like always. “We should go back.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Dave still looks dishevelled, tear tracks dried on his face and curls sticking up from where Klaus has been running his fingers through Dave’s hair. He reaches up to smooth them down. “Yeah,” Dave says. “Have to face the music sometime, right?” 

“Only when you’re ready,” Klaus says, an echo of the lesson Dave has tried to teach him time and again. Based on the way his smile turns a little softer, Dave recognizes that too. 

Squeezing his hand, Dave says, “I know.” 

Still, he pulls Klaus to his feet, towards the back of the truck. The rain had stopped sometime while they’d been inside, but it’s late enough that the thinning cloud cover doesn’t matter. They walk hand in hand, quiet. There’s no point trying to talk Dave out of going back, so Klaus doesn’t say anything when the dim light of their tent comes into view, but his heart does ache when Dave slips his hand out of Klaus’. 

Dave looks at him, light from the crack in the tent striking across his face like it’s highlighting how tired he is. “It’ll be fine,” he says, sounding a lot like he’s trying to convince himself. 

Really, Klaus thinks he should be saying that to Dave. Before he can say anything in response, Dave ducks inside. Alone for the briefest moment, Klaus looks out across the camp that’s built of shadowed silhouettes and dotted lights. He sighs, eyes falling closed, then follows after Dave. 

Dave is already in bed, lying on his back with one arm thrown over his face. His right hand with it’s bandaged fingers hangs down, the gauze stained with blood from the shredded skin of his knuckles. Most people are sleeping or still preoccupied with news from home. Chaz is awake, slumped on his cot as he flips through a book. He doesn’t look at Klaus as he strides across the tent to his own bed. 

“Hey, Katz,” says one of the soldiers who’s still awake. Klaus isn’t familiar with him, but he’s seen the guy around and can generally pick out his mashed nose and buzzed red hair—McBride, that’s his name. “Where’d you run off to?” 

“Why do you care?” Dave grunts. 

“We made bets,” McBride’s buddy says. “About what could’ve upset you so bad, since everyone knows you’re the level-headed one.” When Dave has nothing to add, he continues.“I bet that your girlfriend sent you a Dear John—you’re what, ten months into your tour? Plenty of time to get pregnant with another man’s baby.” 

To Klaus’ surprise, Chaz looks up from his book and snaps, “Shut up and go to sleep. This ain’t a fuckin’ sleepover.” 

The soldiers probably don’t mean any harm—they’re probably trying to help him feel better and lighten the mood—but right now they’re just assholes. Klaus shoots a worried glance at Dave. He hasn’t stirred, but the muscles in his jaw look deathly tense. “Chaz and I agree on something for once,” Klaus says, settling back. 

McBride and his toadie turn their attention on Klaus. “C’mon, Hargreeves,” he says. “Not like somebody died, right?” 

Dave rolls over, shoulders tense. Chaz’s eyes widen—that reaction had been obvious enough. The teasing atmosphere dies. Face souring, Chaz reaches over to slap McBride upside the head. One by one, the lights in the tent go out as the soldiers try to catch what sleep they can. 

__

\---

For once in the many long months of being in Vietnam, Klaus wakes without the sound of gunfire or pounding footsteps. It’s dark, grey light seeping in across the ground. Instinctively, Klaus puts his hand out to reach for Dave, hoping to find him in the darkness, pull him close and catch a few more hours of sleep. His hand falls through the empty air.

Blinking, Klaus huffs a soft groan and sits up. A headache is pulling at the base of his skull, making his eyes hurt. He runs his hands through his hair, rubbing at his temples. Dave isn’t in bed across from Klaus—normally, that wouldn’t really worry him, but the memory of last night makes Klaus bite his lip and stand, making his way across the tent and throwing the flap aside. The light makes Klaus squint. 

Rivers stands outside, a silent, gruesome sentinel. From the right side, he looks mostly normal and Klaus forgets just for the briefest moment that he’s dead. The illusion is ruined when he turns his head, arms crossed over his chest and Klaus can see the muscles in his throat stretch. 

“Where’s Dave?” 

“Good morning to you too.” 

“I’m not in the mood this morning, Rivers.” 

Rivers rolls his eyes and points out across the camp. Klaus walks without another word, fingers picking at a frayed edge on his vest. It’s before six in the morning and a heavy mist is rolling in from higher up in the valley. It’ll be burned off in a few hours, but in the meantime it makes the whole camp look ghostlike. It doesn’t help that Klaus veers towards the shadow of a man standing next to a building to ask if he’s seen Dave and gets within five feet before he realizes the man’s throat is slashed. He gurgles at Klaus and Klaus’ eyes slide past him in practiced ignorance. The ache in the back of his skull gets a little louder. 

When Klaus finally spots Dave, leaning on a table just outside the mess, his pace quickens noticeably. A few other soldiers sit around him, smoking or drinking cups of the terrible coffee they get in ration kits. Even Dave has one, though Klaus has never seen him drink it before. His thousand yard stare is impressive, but his eyes focus as Klaus comes near. “Hey,” Dave says softly.

There are bruises under his eyes. When he raises his tin to take a drink, Klaus can see a tremble in his fingers. “Hi,” Klaus says. “Are you all right?” 

“Didn’t sleep much last night.” 

“I can tell.” Klaus reaches out to ease the tin of coffee out of Dave’s hands and sets it aside. “Dave, really. Are you okay?” 

Dave’s jaw tightens and he looks away. For a moment, Klaus wonders why Dave won’t just tell him when he sees Dave’s eyes flick to the soldiers that are sitting nearby. Quietly, he says, “I just need to tie up loose ends, okay? Surely you can understand that.” His fingers stretch out, hand raising just a little like he wants to touch Klaus’ jaw. Dave catches himself, pulling his fingers into a fist and running his thumb over his knuckles. “I can still keep my eyes open, Sunshine, don’t worry about me.” 

“Of course I’ll worry,” Klaus says. “I’ll be the worst mother hen.” 

The smile Dave manages is weak, but it’s there and that’s what counts. Biting his lip, Klaus reaches out to touch his arm. He’s careful not to let it linger, not to let it look like it means anything _more,_ but the brief moment of contact makes Dave sigh. His eyes close. After a beat, Klaus lets his hand slip off Dave’s arm. “I think you should try and get some more sleep while you can,” Dave says. “I have a feeling the next few days will be hard.” 

“Well, you’re a pessimist.” 

Dave snorts. He reaches out to take back the tin of coffee Klaus had set aside. “That’s true.” 

The itch at the back of Klaus’ skull calls out for attention. Now that he’s found Dave, other issues are quickly becoming apparent. Klaus scratches a fingernail along the underside of his wrist, focusing on the slow drag. “I think I will go take that time, though,” he says carefully. 

Dave’s eyes flick over him quickly and perceptively, no doubt taking in the slight tremor in Klaus’ hands and the paleness of his skin. “All right,” he says quietly. Reaching out, he takes Klaus’ elbow and gently guides him away. “I’ll cover for you, but don’t take too long.” 

Klaus wants to turn and kiss him so much—and judging by the way Dave is looking at him, he wants that too. This early in the morning, Klaus might’ve done it, if it weren’t for the soldiers sitting nearby. He settles for a smile. “Be back soon,” Klaus promises as Dave releases him. Dave lifts his hand in a little wave as Klaus moves off through the mist blanketed camp. 

He reaches into his pocket as he walks, fishing for the morphine pills he keeps there. A bitter weight on his chest accompanies the action. Klaus groans as he ducks behind the plywood wall of a shoddily put together building. Leaning against the wall, Klaus stares at the pill in his hand. Withdrawal is tugging at him, making his skin itch, but the memory of the night before is still fresh. If Klaus was sober, he could very well succeed in summoning Michael. He could give Dave the closure he needs. But … 

“Christ,” Klaus chokes, burying his face in his palms. Steepling his fingers, he presses the knuckles of his thumbs against the bridge of his nose and focuses on Rivers. 

It only takes a moment before the kid’s gravelly voice says, “God, it feels so weird when you do that.” Klaus looks up. Rivers is shaking himself loose, shivering. “What if I’d been in the middle of something important, huh?” 

“I need to ask a favor,” Klaus says, too tired and hurt for wordplay. 

Rivers sighs, shaking his head theatrically. “All I’m good for, apparently. You didn’t want anything to do with me this morning. I see how it is.” 

“Adrian, _please.”_

Rivers’ eyes widen a little. “Okay,” he says. “Shoot.” 

“I need you to keep an eye out for a ghost,” Klaus says. “Looks a bit like Dave but with dark hair and a good couple inches taller. Kind of condescending, but don’t tell Dave I said that.” 

Wincing, Rivers says, “I mean, I’ll try, but that’s not exactly a lot to go on.” 

“I know.” Klaus sighs. Groaning into his palms, he says, “I’m sorry. It’s all I have to work with. I don’t know what else to do.” 

As Rivers’ body begins to fade out piece by piece, he promises again, “I’ll look for him.” His figure disappears altogether, along with the shapes of the other spirits lingering on the edges of Klaus’ vision. His head thumps back against the wall, eyes closing as the tightness behind his eyes disappears and his limbs go loose. As always, it takes Klaus a moment to wrestle himself back under control and straighten. Running his hands over his face, Klaus tries to scrape some sense of purpose to the forefront of his mind. Dave. Right. 

The unfortunate thing is, Klaus can’t be spending time worrying about Dave. They both have things to do. More often than not, their duties pull them to separate ends of camp. It makes the time they do spend together all the more precious, but it sure feels inconvenient when Klaus knows just how much Dave is struggling. 

Pulling himself away from the wall, Klaus starts to stagger back the way he’d come. If he’s lucky, he might catch Dave for a few minutes. People in camp are more awake now. Movement is starting to pick up, returning to the usual hustle of the day, this time without the detriment of ghosts. Dave isn’t where Klaus had left him, but he hadn’t expected him to be. Chaz has taken over Dave’s place. That alone makes Klaus’ mouth quirk into a disappointed frown. It’s almost enough to make him do a neat heel turn and march off to go find somewhere to nap, but then Chaz spots him and his eyes darken. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but harried movement catches both of their eyes. They turn to watch Dave, passing by in the distance as he keeps pace with a tired-looking officer moving at a clip through the camp. The two of them disappear behind a platoon of soldiers marching in formation and Klaus decides it isn’t really worth the trouble to chase them down and involve himself. He can find Dave later and ask. For now, there’s work to be done—and, more importantly, Chaz to avoid. 

Ducking his head to avoid Chaz’s pointed look, Klaus turns to go find something to do. He can almost hear Chaz’s groan. A second later, Klaus hears hurried footsteps at his back. Klaus doesn’t stop walking. “Okay,” Chaz starts. “What the hell is up with Katz? And don’t be coy and tell me you don’t know, because I know he tells you everything.” 

“Why didn’t you ask him?” Klaus asks as he deftly sidesteps Chaz.

Chaz doesn’t seem to care about Klaus’ cold shoulder and keeps a dogged pace with Klaus as Klaus walks somewhere where he can find some peace and quiet. “Well, I would if I could catch him. He’s been making an ass of himself all over camp. I think the company clerk is about to blow a gasket.” 

“It really isn’t my place to talk about it,” Klaus says. He stops short as Chaz catches him by the collar of his vest. This time, Klaus bats his hand away. “Also, I don’t really think he wants to talk to you.” 

Chaz looks serious. “Someone died, right?” he asks. “I think I can guess that much. Listen, Hargreeves, I know we haven’t seen eye to eye lately, but you need to tell me if I need to keep an eye on Dave.” 

The implication isn’t immediately obvious, but when it finally clicks, Klaus jerks back. “Christ,” he snaps. “He isn’t going to fucking kill himself, Chaz.” 

“I’ve seen men break over less.” He isn’t wrong. Klaus has too. Running a hand down his face, Chaz deflates a little and says, “I’m trying to look out for him, man. Can’t we agree on one thing?”

Klaus’ resolve wavers a little, then he folds. Looking around for prying ears, Klaus grabs Chaz and drags him off to the side. Quietly, he says, “His brother died, all right? He heard about it in that letter from home.” 

“Shit,” Chaz breathes, eyes wide. “Is he okay?” 

“As okay as a guy whose brother just died, yeah.” 

“Have you talked to him at all?” 

Klaus levels a look at Chaz that he hopes conveys how stupid he thinks that question is. “Not since he got the letter yesterday. I’ve been trying, but I can’t seem to catch him.” 

“Go find him,” Chaz urges. “I’m pretty sure he’s still harassing the company clerk.” 

It isn’t as simple as just _finding_ him, and both of them know it, but Chaz lets him go without another word. He wanders for a little while, doing his best to make himself look busy, but Dave must be well out of his way, because Klaus sees neither hide nor hair of him. He can’t ask around either without people getting suspiciously curious. Evidently, Chaz isn’t the only one who’s picked up on Dave’s weird mood, and the one person Klaus does ask is left to speculate on that by himself. 

It’s late by the time he actually manages to find Dave, and it’s more an accident than anything else. One minute, Klaus is contemplating just returning to his cot and waiting for Dave to inevitably tire himself out, and the next his eye is drawn to a commotion across the way. Dave is marching out of a building—not so much of an office building, but as close they have on base. He looks just as pensive as he had that morning. As Klaus watches, Dave flicks his lighter open with the side of his palm and snaps it back closed, over and over, like a nervous habit. 

When he spots Klaus, his face brightens. It’s heartening, especially after the glum mood he’d been in that morning. “God,” he says, straightening, reaching out to take Klaus’ shoulders. His hands hover near Klaus’ face at first and then falter visibly. “I have been running all over this godforsaken base all day and I have never been more glad to see you.” 

“Have you found anything out?” Klaus asks. Dave releases him and begins flicking his lighter again. 

“Not yet,” he says. “But I’ve been making a nuisance of myself all damn day. It isn’t exactly uncommon for telegrams to get lost in transit, but I never gave much thought to how goddamn inefficient this system is.” Despite his brusque tone and the wry smile he’s plastered on his face, Klaus doesn’t miss the tremor running through his voice. 

Hooking his finger in the chain of Dave’s dog tags, Klaus shrugs and says, “You don’t have to read the letter if you don’t want to. I’m very much an advocate of non-confrontation.” 

Dave’s laugh is quiet. He rubs at his eyes, shoulders slumping just slightly. At once, he seems smaller, less self assured and more tired. Klaus hadn’t realized how much of Dave’s bearing had been presented in his straight back and squared jaw; without it, he just seems sad. “I think I need it.” Between them, Dave’s fingers curl out to brush against Klaus’ hand. “To know for sure.” 

After a beat, Klaus looks down at their hands and says, “Well, I’ll be here if you need me.” 

Before Dave can say anything else, an officer steps out of the building. “There you are,” he says when he spots Dave, sounding tired. He’s the same man Klaus had seen Dave with earlier, the company clerk, and he looks very much like he wants Dave off his back. He holds out a folded telegram. With the truth literally within arm’s reach, Dave looks hesitant. “I tracked down a copy of the telegram,” the clerk says. “I’m sorry for your loss, but are we done here now?” 

“Yeah,” Dave says absently, his thumb running across the crease in the paper. “We’re done here.” 

The clerk seems to breathe a sigh of relief as he turns and walks away. Dave looks down at the telegram in his hands. “Well,” he says. 

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Klaus asks. 

Dave responds by flipping the letter open. His eyes flick across the words. Klaus has seen enough condolence letters to know that they’re nothing but hollow, but he’d never expected to see that hollowness reflected on Dave’s face. “It’s not even addressed to me.” Pushing the letter towards Klaus without waiting for a response, he says, “Look, _Mr. and Mrs. Solomon Katz—_ they didn’t even think to _send_ one to me.” 

“Oh, Dave,” Klaus says softly. 

He reaches out to touch Dave’s arm and Dave pulls back, running his hand through his hair. It breaks Klaus’ heart to see the frayed expression on his face. “There’s no point in being upset about it,” Dave says, shoving the letter in his pocket and crossing his arms to hide the tremble in his hands. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. The forefinger of his left hand taps a nervous rhythm against his bicep. “Now I’ve found out what I wanted. I can get back to work.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dave,” Klaus says. “I think you need to sleep. You look like a mess. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.” 

“Thanks,” Dave mutters, though both of them know there isn’t much of a point in arguing when Klaus is right. Dave looks like the kind of worn out that comes from too many sleepless nights—and the sleep he does get comes only from the grace of the bottom of a bottle. “I know you’re worried about me,” Dave says. “But you shouldn’t be, really. I’ll be fine.” 

“You can keep saying that,” Klaus tells him. “But I don’t believe you.” 

Dave shoots him an angry look that quickly melts into quiet resignation. Running a hand over his face, Dave gently shifts him to the side and says, “I’ll see you later.” 

Klaus stares after him long after he loses track of the sight of Dave’s bowed shoulders. His mind feels like it’s working a thousand miles a second, replaying every other moment with Dave, wondering if there was something else he could’ve said that would calm Dave’s mind. Logically, he knows that the only thing that will help Dave is time and distance, but it’s hard to find that here. 

Sighing, Klaus drags his eyes away and turns to head into the building. The clerk inside looks up at him and puts himself on the defensive immediately, lifting his hands, “Listen, if you’re here about the telegram, I’ve already done everything I can—” 

“Relax,” Klaus interrupts, pulling Rivers’ letter out of his pocket. “I just have a letter to send.” 

“Oh.” Hesitantly, the clerk reaches out to take it, like he’s afraid Klaus is going to snatch his hand and drag him outside to apologize to Dave. “Is that all?” 

Klaus is about to say yes when he remembers Dave’s letter jammed in his back pocket. Dave had never asked for it back, and Klaus has no idea how to approach giving it to him, so he’d carried it around since Dave had shoved it at his chest. Klaus pulls it out, smoothing the crumpled sheet of paper between his hands. He stares at the address printed on the corner of the rumpled envelope. “Give me a pen and paper,” Klaus says, yanking out a chair and sitting.

It’s kind of bizarre writing to Dave’s parents. It takes a couple drafts of balled up paper before Klaus even begins to write something that he feels isn’t stilted and awkward. He knows they know about him. Dave had mentioned a few times that he wrote about Klaus in his letters home, but they don’t _know,_ which must be why it feels so oddly impersonal when he writes _I’m sorry for your loss._ What bullshit. He’d spat and shouted at reporters who’d said much the same when Ben died. It doesn’t mean anything. 

Sucking in a breath and biting his lip, Klaus scratches out the rest of the letter, hopes it’s satisfactory, and seals it up. He shoves both of them in the bag marked for outgoing mail before he has the time to think about it, and turns to go. 

He doesn’t tell Dave about the letter. The foremost reason for that is that he doesn’t even see Dave for the rest of the day, though even if he had, there wouldn’t be much of a reason to mention it. It had been condolences, that’s all. Condolences and a decently large portion of the letter dedicated to asking if there was anything he could do to help Dave—which is the _other_ reason he hadn’t mentioned it and isn’t going to. It’ll take weeks before he gets a response, anyway.

Despite the fact that Klaus had very intentionally _not_ told Dave, it’s almost like Dave knows anyway, because it isn’t until the day after next—the third day after Dave had gotten the letter —that Klaus manages to see Dave for more than five minutes at a time. Klaus knows that Dave isn’t avoiding him intentionally. It’s mostly been a few days of inconvenient busy nights and busier days. Nothing that hadn’t happened before, but even in the moments where they can all take a moment to breathe and catch a few hours of sleep, Dave stays awake. Klaus has gone enough days kept up by ghosts and withdrawal to know what it feels like.

Rivers pops back up for a moment, but he doesn’t have any news. “Lots of people die, man,” is his apologetic explanation before Klaus takes a pill that he hopes will at least make _him_ feel better. 

In the absence of anything of value to do, people speculate on what could’ve happened to make Dave so upset. They know someone died, but that’s all. Every time Klaus passes someone gossiping, he thinks he can feel their eyes and the hard-edged whisper of _Casper_ on their lips. It makes him angry, but because they’re _wrong._ Klaus would gladly accept his power to talk with the dead if it could bring Dave some peace of mind, ruined reputation be damned.

It’s mid afternoon during a relative lull in activity around camp when Klaus finally finds Dave sitting still for what looks like the first time in days. Not exactly Klaus’ first choice for a conversation, since there are dozing soldiers sprawled all around them, but it’s the best opportunity he’s seen in a while. Dave doesn’t look up as he approaches, eyes fixed on a point somewhere ahead of him as he absently plays with the lighter in his hands. 

“Hey,” Klaus says, because he seems to be unable of ever saying anything worthwhile.

Dave’s eyes lift, focusing on Klaus. “Hi,” he says softly, voice devoid of its usual enthusiasm. Still, he shifts over so Klaus can sit next to him. 

“So, I’m going to say something wildly out of character,” Klaus says before he can talk himself out of it. Dave pinches the bridge of his nose, hiding a tired laugh like he knows what’s coming. “And I’m fully aware that it may be hypocritical of me, but—” 

“Klaus—” 

“You’re not coping well and you need to sleep.” 

Lifting his head, Dave stares at him. “I know,” he says simply. That makes Klaus blink, eyebrows raising. He’d thought he might have to push Dave into admitting it, but his experiences in these things are limited to Ben yelling at Klaus that he needs to come down and take a nap that isn’t drug induced. “I know I’m not, Klaus, but I can’t sleep. I’ve tried.” 

The admission seems to take something out of him, because Dave sighs and runs his hands over his face, fingers pressing into the hollows of his cheeks. Lowering his voice so no one can overhear them, he says, “Every time I close my eyes, I just… imagine some nightmare scenario. How he died, what happened. I—it makes me _sick,_ Klaus. I can’t sleep.” 

Klaus puts his hand on Dave’s knee. “I know what it’s like, believe me.” Klaus hadn’t been there when Ben died, but he’d heard enough about it from his siblings to know that it was bad. Ben had never elaborated. In his worst moments, the only thing that could fill those gaps was his own mind. Dave’s brother had been a soldier. Dave has seen what soldiering leads to first hand. He has enough material to make something up.

“I can’t sleep,” Dave says again, like it’s not just Klaus he’s trying to convince.

“Don’t get yourself hurt, Dave. That’s all I’m asking.” 

There’s a lull where they just look at each other. Klaus thinks about pulling him to his feet and taking him somewhere where he doesn’t have to worry so much, but doesn’t say it, and Dave smiles ruefully like he knows exactly what’s going through Klaus’ head. They separate.  
It’s a good thing too, because not long after that, Flores comes marching towards them. Any vulnerability in Dave’s expression after their talk dies as both of them jump to their feet. Around them, startled by the commotion, other soldiers scramble up, dusting off their clothes in an attempt to look at least a little bit presentable. 

“Katz,” Flores says, stopping right before Dave. Flores only looks him up and down once, but his eyes are critical. No doubt he notices how tired and unkempt Dave looks. “I hear you’ve been harassing my communications officers.” 

“I would say ‘harassing’ is a strong word, sir.” 

Klaus has to hide a laugh at that, but Flores doesn’t look amused. “Your brother just died, didn’t he?” 

At that, Klaus sucks in a breath, and the group of gathered men seem to freeze, eyes darting over to look at Dave, who looks like he’s just been punched in the gut. Resisting the urge to drop his head into his hands, Klaus bites his lip and watches anxiously. The question isn’t met with the telltale noise of Dave’s knuckles connecting with Flores’ jaw, but his voice is grating as he says, “Yes. Sir. All I wanted was the telegram.” His hands are trembling where they’re clenched into fists at his sides. The rest of the platoon looks wide eyed. Dave had never confided in them about his brother. Just as soon as shock settles in, Klaus can almost _feel_ the eyes of other soldiers on him. Dave _always_ confides in him. 

Flores looks him over again, taking in the tremble in his hands. Unconcerned with Dave’s conflict, he says, “Take the rest of the day off. Make sure you’re in better shape tomorrow.” 

Dave lets out a slow, measured breath. His hands unclench from his sides. In an almost defeated tone of voice, he says, “Yes, sir,” turns, and walks off. For a brief moment, Klaus seriously considers slipping out of ranks and going off after him, but he doesn’t think his presence would help any. 

“God,” Klaus sighs, dropping his hands. Flores shouts at the rest of them to get back to work, but Klaus just stands still for a second, wondering what to do. 

Chaz bumps into him from behind. “Thought Katz was going to cold cock him there for a second,” he mutters, ushering Klaus to the side. 

“Me too.” 

“I think you should talk to him.” 

Shrugging out from under Chaz’s hand, Klaus asks, “Do you think I haven't? You don’t get to pretend like you’re suddenly so worried about him. You didn’t give a shit until you found out his brother died, so stop being so performative.” 

Chaz’s face sours and he crosses his arms. It’s the truth, and both of them know he can’t really argue against it. “Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, alright?” 

Klaus wants to say, _It’s Dave, he doesn’t do stupid,_ but grief changes everyone, including him. So he shrugs and tells Chaz, “I’m trying.” 

There’s nothing he can do anything about it right now, though. He has no idea where Dave has gone. Even though he’d told Dave he would be the worst mother hen, Klaus is more than wary of being suffocating. He knows he can be too much sometimes, and Dave doesn’t need someone hovering over his shoulder twenty-four seven. 

He and Chaz share one last look before Chaz shakes his head and walks off. After a beat, Klaus follows him. Klaus anticipates a stunningly boring day without Dave around, and he’s right. News about Dave and his brother spreads quick, and soon enough, all Klaus can hear is gossip. 

“I feel bad for the poor bastard,” someone says as Klaus shoulders past. “But I don’t know why he didn’t tell us. He knew we would’ve helped. Hey, Hargreeves—” a hand stops him short and Klaus has to resist the temptation to shrug it off. “He told you, right?” 

“Yeah,” Klaus says warily.

“Why’d he tell you and not us, huh?” 

The question is well-intentioned, but it makes Klaus roll his eyes. A second later and the soldier seems to realize his own mistake. Everyone knows Klaus and Dave are friends beyond what’s usually acceptable for their ranks. Shrugging, the soldier says, “Well, me and some boys are having drinks later tonight. You know, I even convinced a couple nurses to tag along. You should get him! It’ll cheer him up.” 

“Sure, I’ll tell him,” Klaus says, with absolutely no intention of doing so. “I’ll go find him right now actually.” 

No one stops him as he turns and heads off. His attempt to get out of the conversation was probably transparent, but he doesn’t care. He wasn’t even lying when he said he was planning on going to find Dave, he just doesn’t particularly care to drag Dave out to socialize, however well meant the offer was. 

“Where would I go If I was Dave?” Klaus mutters to himself as he walks. There are only so many hiding places on base, and Klaus is intimately familiar with all of them. The first obvious choice is that Klaus would be high out of his mind, sleeping off the drugs somewhere he was certain no one would bother him. Dave has always been more genuinely social than Klaus—he’d want to be alone, but not _lonely._ Klaus makes a bee-line for the tent. 

There Dave is, curled up on his cot like he’s trying to make himself the smallest thing in the room. His back is to Klaus, but his shoulders carry a tremor, like he knows someone is standing behind him. Creeping forward, Klaus says, “You know, I bet I can get Rivers to spy on Flores for you. I don’t really know how spirits do in the whole haunting department, but I’m sure he’s got something you could hold over his head.” 

The joke doesn’t get a rise out of Dave like Klaus was hoping for, though his shoulders lose the tension as Klaus kneels next to him and puts a hand between his shoulder blades. “It was probably the best thing,” Dave mutters. “You’ve been pushing me to take it easy.” 

Klaus winces. “Not like this.” 

“I know.” There’s a beat where Klaus just rubs his thumb in circles across Dave’s back while Dave sucks in a long, frustrated breath, his fingers curling tight into the fabric of his shirt. He sits up, leaning on his knees. Running his hands over his face, he sighs, “I just don’t want to think about it right now.”

“What do you need?” Klaus asks, reaching out to touch Dave’s knee. 

Dave leans down to kiss him. It speaks of how drained he is that he would allow such a public display of affection, but Klaus is no stranger to physical comfort. Stroking his thumbs across Klaus’ cheeks, Dave asks, “Is it cheesy if I say you?” 

“Yes,” Klaus laughs. “But I forgive you.” 

“I want to find some peace and goddamn quiet,” Dave whispers, hands roving across Klaus’ shoulders and up his neck. 

“If you want that, you might have to leave me behind.”

“No, you’re integral to my enjoyment of this moment.” Dave’s eyes open a sliver. “Please,” he says, voice soft and dangerously close to begging. 

The sun is setting, throwing stripes of golden orange across Dave’s face. Klaus tells himself that the soldiers who invited them for drinks won’t miss them. If they do, it’s just their loss. Wordlessly, Klaus stands and pulls Dave to his feet. Almost immediately, the grin on his face melts into one of barely withheld annoyance as someone shouts from outside, “Hey Hargreeves, you find him?” 

They separate until there’s a respectable distance between the two of them. A second later, the same soldier that had invited them for a drink pokes his head in. Klaus really shouldn’t feel as irritated as he does. The socialization is probably good for Dave and the guys in their platoon aren’t assholes all the time. There will be genuine grief on Dave’s behalf—Klaus was just really looking forward to sneaking away for an hour or two. 

“Oh, great,” he says. “Listen, Katz, come out for a drink with all of us tonight. It’ll do you some good. The guys all really feel for you.” 

“I’d rather not,” Dave says flatly, no pretense of politeness or halfhearted protest on his end. 

To his credit, the other soldier only smiles, apparently unoffended. “What else would you do?” he asks. Dave side-eyes Klaus and Klaus has to resist a laugh. “Sit around and mope?” 

There isn’t a good excuse, and all three of them know it. Even if Dave successfully shoves off the invitation, Klaus will be roped into going, and their plans will be ruined anyway. Dave sighs, shoulders loosening as he shakes his head. “Fine.” He gestures forward. “Lead the way.” 

“I think the universe really has it out for us,” Klaus says as they walk through the slowly darkening camp. He folds his hands behind his head, stretching. 

“Yep.” Dave glances down at Klaus, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t say it will be fine,” he says quickly. “You’ll jinx us.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Klaus laughs, but even he can feel the well of trepidation growing in Dave’s chest, picking at his already frayed nerves. He lays his hand on Dave’s arm. Quiet enough to keep it between them, Klaus says, “You know, I’m really good at distractions if you want to make an escape later.”

“Oh? What kind of distractions?” 

“Usually the kind that get me banned from places for life.” Dave snickers at that, ducking his head. “Really,” Klaus adds. “I’m always ready to make a fool of myself.” 

“I may take you up on that,” Dave murmurs as the mess comes into view, lit from within with kerosene lamps. The sound of several already drunk soldiers having a good time bleeds out through the break in the tent flaps. “Try not to get discharged, though.” 

Conversation doesn’t exactly falter as Klaus and Dave enter the tent, but there’s a noticeable lull. Dave rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I’m not here to be a fucking downer.” 

It’s mostly soldiers from their platoon, sitting around and shooting the shit. There are a couple of men Klaus doesn’t recognize, and they eye Dave curiously as Dave makes his way around the edge of the tent like the wallflower he’s trying to be. Chaz is there, too, sitting on a table and nursing what Klaus imagines is a cup of whiskey. He nods in Klaus’ direction, which is honestly more than Klaus expected.

To Klaus’ surprise, there are actually several nurses there, but all of them give him some degree of stinkeye. He is rather infamous around the ward tent, after all. One of them grabs Dave almost immediately and pulls him into a hug. Klaus would laugh at the startled expression on Dave’s face if it wasn’t for the anxiety welling up in his chest. He starts to make his way over, trying not to look too conspicuous.

“Oh, we were so sorry to hear what happened,” the nurse is saying, blind to the way Dave hunches his shoulders and attempts to squirm out of her grip. “Really, it was just awful.” 

Dave finally frees himself and practically stiff-arms the nurse backwards. “Yeah, it wasn’t great,” he says, flustered. “Listen, I’d really prefer not to talk about it right now.” 

“Of course,” she says. She puts her drink in his hand. “Here, take this, you’ll feel better.” 

Dave shifts, obviously uncomfortable. Klaus sidles closer, laying his hand on Dave’s back. He jumps a little, startled, but relaxes at the sight of Klaus. “Are you all right?” Klaus asks. 

“I’m fine,” Dave says. A muscle in his jaw tics, proving very much that he’s not all right, but he forces a smile anyway. “I’m tired. Not looking forward to everyone talk circles around shit they think will set me off.” He hefts the cup the nurse had pushed into his hands. Her lipstick is still staining the rim. It leaves a red streak on the corner of his mouth as he finishes off the drink, then sighs. “Well,” he says. “She was right. It did help.” 

Reaching out, Dave slips his free hand into Klaus’ vest and withdraws his flask. Klaus frowns. “Listen,” he says as Dave unscrews the cap. He glances between the flask and the cup for a moment before setting the cup aside and drinking straight from the flask. “I know it might sound hypocritical of me, but I’m not sure if drinking is a great idea right now.” 

“You’re right, that is hypocritical.” Dave smiles to soften the sting of his words, but it doesn’t make Klaus’ frown lessen at all. “If I’m going to survive the night, I’ll need a few drinks in me, that’s all.” 

“Fine,” Klaus sighs. 

“Fine,” Dave echoes. He takes another drink from Klaus’ flask. Already he’s starting to look haggard, curls hanging in front of his eyes and a slight shake in his hands—though that might just be from lack of sleep. It isn’t Klaus’ place to pass judgement, especially when he’d been in worse states and had ignored better advice, but it still hurts to watch Dave do this when he’s so obviously hurting. Idly, Klaus wonders if this is how Ben feels, then discards the thought, choosing not to dwell on it. 

Dave turns and wanders off, leaving Klaus to trail behind like an anxious mother. It’s already shaping up to be a disastrous night. The first person who approaches Dave after the nurse is a soldier who decides it’s best to start his conversation with, “So your brother died on the front or something?” Dave just rolls his eyes and moves on, without even gracing the guy with a response. 

Everyone really is well-meaning, but soldiers’ ideas of comfort don’t usually mean a sympathetic shoulder. Empathy, maybe, stories of one-upmanship about the shitty ways they’ve seen people die. A few, “My cousin died last year, I know how you feel”’s here and there. With every comment, Dave sinks further into the depths of Klaus’ flask until it’s empty, at which point he pushes it back at Klaus. 

He looks worn as he runs his hands over his face. Klaus is certain that his hovering isn’t doing anything but pinballing off Dave’s own anxiety, amplifying it. Klaus can’t do anything but take ahold of Dave’s hand and pull him into a low-lit corner. Dave keeps one hand pressed over his eyes. Before Klaus can even open his mouth, Dave grits out, “Don’t ask me if I’m feeling all right.” 

“Okay,” Klaus says quietly. Mustering some humor, he says, “You know I’m pretty sure we’ve been here long enough that it wouldn’t be against social conventions to leave. Maybe if we’re slick enough, nobody will notice.” 

People will notice. They’ve been watching Dave all night, blind to the way his shoulders slump and how bloodshot his eyes are. Dave knows that too, because he levels Klaus with a truly exhausted look. Still, there must be some part of him that’s trying to be okay, because he says, “Well, don’t get my hopes up.” 

Smiling, Klaus jerks a thumb at the entrance and says, “If we go now, we might sneak forty-five minutes alone.” 

“Please get me out of here,” Dave says, hands out like he wants to usher Klaus out the door. 

They don’t even make it within ten feet of the exit before someone snags Dave. Klaus can almost hear his internal scream of frustration as a soldier who isn’t from their platoon swings an arm around his neck. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, overly friendly. “What’re you doing, sulking off? Don’t be such a drag.” 

“Let me go,” Dave says through gritted teeth, shoulders hiked up around his ears. 

The soldier ignores him. Klaus doesn’t recognize him, but he’s beginning to think this soldier has a reputation for being an idiot, because he tightens his hold around Dave. He’s a few inches shorter than Dave, and the action forces Dave to hunch his shoulders. “Come on,” he says. He’s probably just as drunk as Dave is, and that might end up being a deadly combination. “We should get you another drink or something.” 

More forcefully, Dave says, “I said, let me go,” and pushes at the soldier’s side. 

He releases his grip somewhat reluctantly. “Jesus,” he complains, rubbing his ribs. “I’m only trying to be friendly after, what, your brother died or something? What were you going to do, sneak off with your nancy boyfriend anyway? I bet you at least three nurses here would—” 

He never finishes his sentence because Dave punches him, full stop. Klaus blinks. A second later, his brain catches up with the fact that there is now a man lying on the ground, groaning around one hand clamped over his bloody nose. “Holy shit,” Klaus breathes. The stranger soldier coughs on a similar sentiment. 

Klaus drags his eyes away from the downed man to stare at Dave, who’s looking at the man in outright horror, his fingers uncurling from their loose fist. He looks down at the blood on his knuckles and blanches. He grips his bloody knuckles in his other hand and takes a shaking breath. His eyes flick up to meet the wide eyed gaze of everyone staring at him. Dave seems to shrink in on himself. Running a hand over his face, he turns and shoves past Klaus, striding out of the tent without anyone trying to stop him. 

Nobody moves until he’s gone. The private on the ground still looks rattled. Blood is soaking the front of his fatigues. His nose is probably broken. Pushing through the ring of people, Chaz appears. He grabs the scruff of the soldier’s uniform, hauls him to his feet and grabs a nurse idling nearby. “Fix him up, please,” he mutters, before moving towards Klaus. 

“Hey!” Klaus says as Chaz grabs him by the upper arm and starts pulling him outside. 

“We need to talk,” Chaz says, tone brooking no argument. 

Wordlessly, Klaus allows Chaz to pull him out into the balmy evening air and a little ways away to the shadow of an eave where fewer people will be likely to overhear them. “What is this about?” 

“You need to sort things out with Dave,” Chaz says. “I don’t care how. Snap him out of his funk.” 

“He’s _grieving,”_ Klaus snaps. “You don’t ‘snap out’ of losing someone.” 

“Then he needs to figure out how to function better.” Chaz’s eyebrows furrow and he looks away, chewing on his lip. Sounding almost embarrassed, he grinds out the words, “I’m not unaware of the fact that I haven’t been the best friend to either of you, but I don’t want to see him get hurt. You’re the only one who can help him.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Klaus asks. 

Eyeing him warily, Chaz says, “I think you know.” 

Honestly, Klaus is getting a little desensitized to people correctly calling him on his relationship with Dave, but that’s a problem to confront later. Shaking his head, he sighs and looks down at his feet, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah,” he says quietly. He laughs, soft and incredulous. “I’ll see you around,” he says and turns to go off in the direction Dave had gone. 

It’s slow going trying to find him. Not only is it getting dark, but Dave had a ten minute head start trying to find a hiding spot. It’s a little unfair that Dave knows Klaus’ every hiding place, but he has to stop and ask if anyone has seen him go by. Klaus only barely remembers to call him Sergeant Katz instead of Dave when he asks another soldier if he’d seen him. As the soldier is pointing him in the direction of the motor pool, Klaus thinks to himself that it’s no fucking wonder people can see right through the two of them. 

It’s no surprise that Dave had run off in this direction. It’s easier to find privacy there, something they’d taken advantage of many times in the past. Unfortunately, that’s part of the drawback—he has no idea where Dave could’ve gone. 

“Dave?” he calls, peering into the shadow of a benched M41 Bulldog that’s been sitting in the mud for as long as Klaus can remember. If he’s anywhere, he’s there. 

Above him, there’s a clatter and a bang as someone slaps the side of the turret. Klaus jumps, stepping out of the shadow and looking up. Dave is leaning over the side of the turret, backlit. “Hey,” Dave says. 

“Hi.” Klaus stares up at him, blinking. “You’re on a tank.” 

“It’s not very comfortable.” 

“Do you want to come down?” 

Dave hums. “Not really.” Holding out an arm, he says, “Come up with me?” 

It takes a bit of work in order to climb up to where Dave is. He’s lying in front of the hatch but above the main gun on a stretch of uninterrupted steel. One arm is folded beneath his head, the other extended over the hull for Klaus to take. Foregoing the handholds, Klaus grabs his arm and lets Dave pull him up on top of the turret. 

“What are you doing up here?” Klaus asks, settling down beside him and resting his arms on his knees. Up close, Klaus can see how dishevelled Dave looks, with his hair askew and clothes rumpled. The smell of whiskey clings to him like a second skin. He looks so tired. Klaus wants nothing more than to take him away from all this and keep him somewhere safe. 

Dave lies back, refolding his hands behind his head. It takes him a little while to respond, and when he does, it isn’t an answer. “How’s the kid?” 

“I don’t know,” Klaus says, leaning back on his palms. “I think you broke his nose. Not that he didn’t deserve it.” 

“Shit,” Dave sighs, sounding so resigned and exhausted that Klaus turns to look at him. His eyes are closed. He pinches the bridge of his nose, swiping his thumb along the bruise beneath his eye. “Fucking disaster.” 

“Kind of,” Klaus agrees. “How’s your hand?” Wordlessly, Dave hands it over. He’d punched with his right fist, the broken one. Blood is still crusted on his knuckles, but it doesn’t look too worse for wear, even though it trembles a little in Klaus’ grip. Lifting it, Klaus presses a kiss to the back of his hand. 

“I didn’t want them to keep looking at me,” Dave mumbles. “I’m so tired of hearing them tell me how sorry they are.” 

“I know.” 

After Ben had died, it had been hard to escape the public eye. For days after it had happened, they’d been hounded by falsely sympathetic reporters almost constantly. It was bad enough that Klaus was so high he could barely see straight, but the constant bombardment of paparazzi, all asking about Ben—and Ben himself, waiting for Klaus to come back to himself—it had all been too much. That was probably the beginning of the end, in retrospect, when Klaus started spending more days high than he did sober. 

Almost like he can hear what Klaus is thinking, Dave looks at him and asks, “What did you do after Ben died?”

Klaus lifts his head, looking up at the blackening sky. The weeks immediately following Ben’s death had not been some of his proudest. He doesn’t even remember a lot of it, except for the disappointed look on Ben’s face in the moments between his highs. “Drugs,” he answers softly. “Drugs and a lot of sex and bad decisions.” Turning, Klaus looks down at Dave. “I won’t let you do that, though.” 

“Why?” 

The question is soft; Klaus almost misses it. He doesn’t shy away from Dave’s eyes when he answers quietly, “Because you’re better than that.”

Something changes on Dave’s face. It isn’t pity, but Klaus knows he understands. He holds out one arm, a silent invitation. Klaus has no problem lying down beside him, kissing him first before he curls up. Like a wave finally breaking, Dave decompresses. He whispers, “I’ve been so lost since he died. I keep thinking there must have been something I could have done to prevent it, but I know that isn’t true. Maybe I’m cursed or something.” 

“Cursed?” Klaus repeats softly. Dave starts running his fingers through Klaus’ hair. 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound like he’s joking. Lifting his head, Klaus shifts to look at him. Dave’s eyes are somber. 

Taking Dave’s free hand, he asks, “Why do you think that?”

Dave’s shoulder hitches in a listless shrug. “People around me die a lot,” he says. “Johnson died saving me. Rivers died because I wasn’t paying attention, and you got hurt because of that, too. Now my brother is dead. It just keeps going through my mind—what would happen if I lost you?” 

Klaus bites the inside of his cheek. “You’re in a morbid way tonight.” 

Dave’s eyebrows furrow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” he says. “If one of us died, what would happen?” 

“Dave—” 

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” he says, carrying on like Klaus hadn’t spoken. He sits up, jostling Klaus, drawing his knees up and resting his arms across them. Klaus reaches out, touching Dave’s shoulder. Dave doesn’t stir, just stares at his hands. “Ever since I got that letter. You would leave if I died, I know that much, and maybe it would be better that way since you could still see me after.”

“Dave!” Klaus says again and Dave stops, teeth clicking as he shuts his mouth. They stare at each other, quiet. Softly, Klaus says, “Please don’t talk like that.” 

Tears well up in Dave’s eyes. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. 

Cupping his face in his hands and wiping away the wetness he finds on Dave’s cheeks, Klaus says, “And I don’t know what I would do without you, so try and keep yourself alive, okay?” 

Dave leans into his shoulder without another word, curling around him and gripping Klaus’ shoulders so tight it’s almost painful. He’s trembling under Klaus’ hands. Klaus strokes his hair. Everyone seems to think he’s the secret for making Dave feel better, but Klaus himself isn’t so sure. All he knows is that he never had anyone like this when he needed someone. 

Closing his eyes, Klaus rests his cheek against Dave’s head. He wants so badly to tell Dave that he loves him, but now isn’t the place. Instead, he just holds Dave until Dave stops shaking. “I wish I could do more,” he whispers. “I wish I could say the right things.” 

Lifting his head enough to press his lips against Klaus’ collarbone, Dave says, “You do, Sunshine.” 

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut. Making an effort to control his voice, he says, “I think you should get some sleep.” 

“I don’t want to go down yet.” 

“Then lie next to me.” 

Maneuvering heavy limbs and tired bodies, they lie back down, arms and legs tangled together. It’s hardly a comfortable napping spot, but they’re wrapped in their own bubble of privacy. The lights of camp are far away. Dave is still holding him close, but not as tight as before. Klaus watches the sky turn above them, stars starting to dot the night. Next to him, Dave relaxes with every breath until he’s asleep, face pressed into Klaus’ chest. 

Klaus combs his fingers through Dave’s hair. “It’ll be better tomorrow,” he promises in a whisper, and hopes that he’s right.

\---

Klaus isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but it isn’t too much later after that he blinks awake, disoriented and sore. There’s nothing overhead except the cool black sky dotted with distant stars. A warm body is curled around him, fingers roving in rhythmic patterns across his shoulders and back.

“Are you awake?” Dave whispers to him. They’ve shifted as they slept, trading places until Klaus is tucked comfortably in between Dave’s arms. He grips Dave’s shirt, pulling him close. 

Closing his eyes again, Klaus tries to bury his face back in Dave’s chest. “No.” A soft laugh rumbles in Dave’s chest as he whispers a similar sentiment. Lifting his head a little, Klaus asks, “Did you sleep?”

“Yeah.” Dave brushes a lock of hair off Klaus’ forehead. Sadness lingers in his face, but that’s something that will be there for a long time, no matter how much Klaus wishes he could kiss it better. It’s something Dave has to come to terms with on his own. Still—he smiles, and for the first time in days, Klaus doesn’t feel like it’s forced. “I sleep better most nights when I’m with you.” 

“Dunno how anyone can sleep well on this fucking turret,” Klaus mutters. “I’m too old for this, Dave. My back hurts.” 

Dave laughs, smothering the noise by burying his face in Klaus’ hair. Dave shifts him around until Klaus is lying on his chest. “Better?” Klaus hums, eyes closing, and Dave runs his hand along Klaus’ back. It isn’t quite to the point where they have to be awake yet, so neither of them move, content to stay close for as long as they can. As it is, Klaus is almost asleep when Dave murmurs, “I’m sorry.” 

Humming, Klaus looks up. “What for?” 

“I feel like I’ve been unfair to you.” It’s an awkward position to have this conversation in, so Klaus slides off Dave and sits. Pushing himself up, Dave reaches out to take Klaus’ hand. Klaus brushes his fingers along Dave’s jaw. Dave’s eyes close. After a beat, he adds, “Like I’ve been pushing you away.” 

“You had a good reason,” Klaus points out. He continues stroking the line of Dave’s jaw, brushing over the stubble that has accumulated over days of inattention. 

Dave hums. His eyes open. He catches Klaus’ hand, gentle fingers pressing over the pulse point in his wrist. Ducking his head to kiss Klaus’ fingers, Dave murmurs, “That’s not an excuse.” 

“But I understand wanting to be alone,” Klaus says. He touches Dave’s chin, forcing his eyes to flick up at meet Klaus’. “Trust me, Dave. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” 

Something changes in Dave’s eyes. He ducks his head to bury his face in Klaus’ shoulder, pulling him close. Klaus closes his eyes, leaning into Dave. Voice muffled from where his lips are pressed against Klaus’ chest, Dave mutters something which _sounds_ like _You’re too good for me,_ which is, frankly, a _laughable_ notion. Klaus lets him think it anyway, content to pet Dave’s hair until Dave lifts his head enough to kiss him. It’s a hungry sort of kiss, the kind Klaus recognizes and would normally be glad to reciprocate, but dawn isn’t far off and the turret of a beaten down old tank isn’t the place for that. Besides, a bitter note of alcohol still lingers on Dave’s tongue. It hadn’t been too long ago that he’d been drinking. 

Putting his hand on Dave’s chest, Klaus pushes him away somewhat reluctantly. “Hold your horses,” he murmurs. “You still look way too tired to be expending your energy, soldier. Plus you need to brush your teeth.” Groaning, Dave rolls onto his back. Klaus stands up, offering his hand. As he pulls Dave to his feet, he adds, “Funny how the tables turn like that, isn’t it?” 

“Hilarious,” Dave mutters, pressing the pads of his fingers against his eyes. Klaus chuckles, careful not to make too much noise as he climbs down from the turret. A moment later, Dave follows, overly cautious on the handholds that are slippery from rain. Either the soldiers on duty don’t care or they don’t notice when the two of them start to make their way back towards their beds. Klaus doesn’t care which it is. He’s just glad no one bothers them. It’s a little overt, but Klaus reaches down to take Dave’s hand. It’s dark, and it feels safe enough. Dave flashes him a grateful smile. 

“Katz?” someone says. Their hands fall apart, tucking into pockets like it’d been practiced. The ember of a cigarette approaches through the hazy darkness settled over camp. It’s just Chaz, shoulders hunched against the storm clouds brewing over head. 

Both Klaus and Dave straighten as Chaz approaches. Unless Klaus was reading into things last night, Chaz knows about them—though how, and more importantly _when_ he figured it out, Klaus has no idea. He has no clue if Dave knows, either. Klaus glances at Dave, trying to read his expression, but Dave looks impassive, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey,” Chaz says, stopping in front of them. He looks a little uncomfortable, like he’s trying and just barely failing to hide what he’s thinking. He flicks his cigarette into the mud and grinds out out under the toe of his boot, but everyone can tell he’s just stalling. Sticking his hands in his pockets and looking to the side, Chaz says, “Sorry for being an asshole lately.” 

“Are you apologizing to me or to Klaus?” Dave asks. 

The question seems to irritate Chaz, because a knot forms between his eyebrows and he huffs. He mutters, “Both of you, I guess.” 

“You guess?” 

“Jesus, Katz, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Finally lifting his eyes, Chaz shoots a pleading look first at Klaus, and when that nets him no sympathy, at Dave. “I’m trying to extend the olive branch here. Up to you if you want to take it. I know you’ve had a rough week, and I’m not going to make it worse.” 

Nudging Dave in the ribs, Klaus says, “Dave.” When Dave looks at him, his shoulders fall a little and his walled-off expression crumbles enough for Klaus to see the vulnerability in his eyes. A silent conversation passes between them and Dave sighs, running a hand over his face. 

“Fine,” he says, extending his hand. After a beat, Chaz takes it. Neither of them look very happy about it, but Chaz just looks more uncomfortable than he does upset. 

Chaz flexes his fingers when Dave releases his hand. “Okay,” he says. “Good. I’ll uh … see you around. Don’t get in any more trouble, yeah?” 

Flatly, Dave says, “I’ll try.” 

Nodding, Chaz makes a smart heel-turn and marches away, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched. Only when he’s out of earshot does Dave let out a breath. Klaus reaches down between them to stroke his fingers along the inside of Dave’s wrist and down the center of his palm, eventually lacing their fingers together again. “I think it could’ve gone worse.” 

“What would I do without your optimism?” Dave asks, smiling even though it doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. 

Klaus shrugs. “Wallow in negativity until you die, I guess.” 

At least that gets a laugh, and a soft kiss that’s riskier than how they usually operate. Not that Klaus minds. Evidently, neither does Dave because he rests his forehead against Klaus’, eyes closed—not exactly subtle. Stroking his hand down Dave’s jaw, Klaus says quietly, “Did you know Chaz knows about us?” 

The question doesn’t net him the panicked, wide-eyed scramble that Klaus might’ve gotten three months ago. Dave only hums, squeezing Klaus’ hand where their fingers are still curled together. “I know.” 

But _that’s_ surprising. “You know?” 

“Last month, when you told me about your ghost thing.” Dave’s eyes crack open. “Chaz let it slip that we weren’t exactly quiet in that hotel room and that we may have let it slip our minds that the next room over was occupied.” 

_“Oh,”_ Klaus says emphatically, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. Poor Chaz. He’d probably gotten very little sleep. With that, plus what Rivers had told him about that trip, it’s honestly a miracle they haven’t been caught yet. “Is he okay with it?” 

“Less okay with it than I think he is concerned that we just continue to do our jobs.” 

“How progressive,” Klaus says dryly. 

Laughing again, Dave bends down to give him one last kiss before they separate. “Like you said,” Dave says, his voice teasing. “It could be worse.” 

“Optimism, from you?” Klaus asks, feigning shock. 

Dave rolls his eyes. His face turns impossibly fond. He squeezes Klaus’ fingers. “Really,” he says. “What would I do without you?” 

“I dunno.” Klaus pulls Dave’s hand up to his lips. “Good thing we’ll never find out.” It’s as much of an _I love you_ as Klaus can manage right now. Hopefully Dave understands. 

The urge to just stay standing there sheltered and out out of the way is strong, but both of them know they can’t linger too much longer. When Dave lets go of Klaus’ hand, the lack of his warmth is startling. “Come on,” he urges. “We should head in.” 

“Alright.”

It still takes them a minute to move. Dave slips away before Klaus and Klaus is left staring after him. After a breath, he follows. Dave is walking a few steps ahead of him, though he keeps glancing over his shoulder. The distance is necessary, but it still stings more than it should. 

Not everyone is sleeping when they come back to the tent, or else Klaus would have reached out to take Dave’s hand again. As he sits on his cot, he whispers to Dave, “Will you at least try and get some sleep?” 

Dave looks up from where he’s giving his empty bed a bitter stare. Something like guilt flickers over his features. “I’ll try,” he says carefully, but it’s not a promise and both of them know it. Still, it would be hypocritical for Klaus to call him out, so he just bites his lip and nods. 

He won’t sleep, Klaus knows that much. He hasn’t had a decent rest in days, and that wouldn’t be abnormal except for the fact that the jungle has been quiet. Dave might try, but Klaus knows he’ll just spend an hour staring at the ceiling of the tent waiting for Klaus to fall asleep before he gets up and sneaks out to find something to do. Evidently, his coping mechanism is overwork. His brief nap on the turret was probably the best rest he’d gotten since opening that goddamn letter. 

There’s nothing Klaus can do about it for now. If Klaus is missing some key detail, it won’t come to him now, so he closes his eyes and attempts to catch a few more hours of sleep. He doesn’t even notice he’s drifted off until a passing hand bumps his leg, jolting him awake. Klaus twists around to look at Dave’s bed and it is, as expected, empty. He groans, stumbling to his feet and joining the flow of men headed outside. 

His head aches even out of direct sunlight and Klaus squints, running his hands through his hair. Dave is sitting on a crate just outside the tent, an empty mug with a toothbrush in it sitting at his feet. In one hand is a little cracked mirror that he’d probably borrowed from another soldier. In the other is a straight razor. A streak of shaving cream stripes his jaw. Out of pure domestic habit, Klaus reaches out to wipe it away with his thumb. Dave looks up at him. “Morning,” he says, voice rough. 

Klaus sits next to him. Dave pulls the towel off his shoulder and wipes his face as Klaus studies him. As he begins to wrap his things up in the towel, Klaus asks, “Sleep well?”

“Tried to,” he says. At least he sounds honest. He stands, spreading his arms in what’s obviously a thinly veiled attempt to change the subject. “Am I up to par?” 

He’s clean shaven, for one, face smooth except for the smallest cut along the side of his jaw where he’d nicked himself with the straight razor, hands no doubt unsteady from lack of sleep. Even his clothes—which are impossible to keep clean—are at least not stained with mud and sweat. Other than his tired eyes, he looks every inch a military man. 

Humming, Klaus taps his chin. “You’ll do.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Dave says dryly. He disappears into the tent and comes back a moment later, empty-handed. Pulling Klaus to his feet, he says, “Come on, grab your things. You woke up just in time to patrol.” 

“Yay,” Klaus deadpans. 

“We aren’t leaving just yet,” Dave says around a short laugh. “You have time to make yourself feel more human.” 

It isn’t a very subtle way of asking about his withdrawals, but Klaus has heard worse. “I’ll be fine,” he says. It’s a half-truth. In a few hours, his head will be killing him and his hands will be shaking too bad to hold a rifle steady, but with any luck they won’t run into any trouble and he can just take something when they stop. Plus, Klaus has his emergency stash of medication tucked in a pocket of his vest. 

Dave’s eyebrow lifts. Crossing his arms, Klaus says, “You don’t get to critique my level of self-care, Mister I-haven’t-slept-in-three-days.” 

“Fine.” Dave waves a carefree hand. “As long as you’re sure.” 

“I am,” Klaus says primly, putting his hands on his hips. Dave doesn’t laugh, but his face is fond.

Reaching out to touch Klaus’ shoulder, he says, “At least go get something to eat, or you’ll regret it later.” 

He’s not wrong, but Klaus is still reluctant to leave Dave’s side. After a moment of deliberation, he nods and slips away. He needs to clean the taste of alcohol out of his mouth and track down a cup of coffee. It never tastes good, but it might do something to dull the headache building up at the base of his skull. As he heads through camp towards the mess, Klaus spots several soldiers from his platoon looking about as excited for a patrol as he feels. Most of them have mugs of coffee or cigarettes between their fingers. It doesn’t take long for Klaus to track down both. 

The coffee is so bitter that it doesn’t really help Klaus’ impending headache so much as it just distracts him. Klaus huddles under the eave over the tent, wary of the clouds on the horizon. Next to him, the soldiers just sip their coffee and grumble. McBride is there, busy making no eye contact with him, same as he has since he’d hazed Dave over the letter. 

Someone nudges Klaus’ shoulder and he looks up, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Well, hell,” he says to Andrews, who he’s hardly seen or spoken to in almost a month. He’d taken the same route as Chaz and decided to leave Klaus to his own little bubble of crazy, but he’d been less sour about. Wryly, Klaus says, “So you’ve decided we’re still on speaking terms, huh?” 

Andrews shrugs in that quiet way of his. “Not like anyone else is less objectionable.” 

“People have said worse things about me.” Andrews offers a grim smile in response. The two of them stand in silence for a moment, sipping their coffee and waiting for someone to come along to tell them what to do. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

“No,” Andrews says. “Why didn’t you ask Katz?” 

His tone isn’t accusatory, but Klaus still frowns, turning away. He has to wonder if Andrews has their number, just like Chaz and Rivers had. Silence takes back up among the group of soldiers. In the quiet, not really in the mood to talk for once, Klaus watches men come and go. A flash of red to the right draws his eye towards Irene, following her nephew as he carries a belt of ammunition towards the motor pool. She catches him looking and blows a kiss in his direction, laughing when Klaus smiles. 

It’s a quiet morning, a strange contrast to the commotion of the past few days. Klaus doesn’t altogether mind. He could use a break. It’s been a long time since they’d gotten liberty and Klaus is beginning to miss that one noodle shop a few blocks away from the hotel where they usually stay. Besides, if anyone deserves a break, it’s Dave. Maybe with a few days away from everything, when they can catch more than a few hours alone, Dave can start to breathe again. 

An elbow nudges Klaus in the ribs, pulling him out of his daydreaming. Andrews pours the dregs of his coffee out onto the already muddy ground. “Officers on deck,” he mutters. 

Klaus looks up. Dave and Chaz are headed towards the platoon that’s congregated near the mess. There’s a collection of groans as they get near, but it’s all stifled at the dour look Chaz gives them. “Let’s go,” he calls as he walks past. “You can complain while you march.” 

Everyone sighs anyway and begins to move off except for Dave. Klaus’ helmet is tucked under his arm, his rifle slung in the crook of Dave’s elbow. Beckoning Klaus over, Dave says, “I already stashed the rest of your stuff.” He drops Klaus’ helmet on his head and unslings the rifle from his arm to hand it to Klaus. 

Klaus smiles, moving the strap up to his shoulder. Echoing Dave’s words earlier, he asks, “Am I up to par?”

Dave’s lips twitch. “You’ll do.” 

“You’ll have to set me straight, then.” 

“Don’t know if I can do that,” Dave says. Klaus ducks his head to hide a snicker. Both of them turn, joining the loose line of men filing out of the camp. No one pays too much attention as they take up the rear—Chaz is up front, content to be a hardass and give orders. 

After Dave’s incident last night, it seems like everyone is more than willing to give him his space, but Dave seems much better than he did last night. As the fence surrounding the camp disappears behind them and the jungle begins to grow denser, Klaus nudges Dave in the ribs. “Do you feel better?” he asks when Dave turns to look at him. 

“I do. I do!” he says at Klaus’ disbelieving look. It’s sweet that he doesn’t want Klaus to worry, and his smile _almost_ works as a distraction. “Really, Klaus, I do feel better. I still feel like I can’t sleep, but last night helped.” 

“All right,” Klaus says, still not feeling quite convinced. It must show on his face, because Dave gestures at the back of the truck, where a couple men are sitting, watching the road pass beneath their dangling feet. 

“Do you want me to get in the truck?” 

“If you’re bluffing you’ll be sorry, because I _will_ make you do it.” Now, Klaus is less worried about looking like a mother hen than he is about Dave being too tired to walk straight, let alone fight if they get into trouble.

Spreading his hands, Dave takes a quick step and grabs the back of the truck, hauling himself up into the bed while it’s still moving. He looks at Klaus as if to say, _See?_ and Klaus just reaches out to pat his knee. “Get some sleep and then I’ll be really impressed.” 

Klaus only barely catches Dave’s eye roll, but he does hang back as Klaus walks ahead. It won’t make up for the lack of sleep, but at least he can sit for a while. With Dave resting and no drugs to chase away the ghosts lingering at the edge of his vision, Klaus heads to the front of the line, slipping between men until he’s walking shoulder to shoulder with Chaz. Chaz shoots him a questioning look, glancing backwards like he’s looking for Dave. “I put him down for a nap.” 

Chaz snorts, rolling his eyes. “Maybe he won’t be totally useless.” 

Putting his hand up to shade his eyes, Klaus asks, “Think it’ll be a milk run?” 

“I think it’s a bad idea to tempt fate,” Chaz says. “But yeah. Probably.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence for a long time. Klaus had actually kind of missed Chaz’s company. It’s nice to have it back, even if only briefly. Patrols are long and when they’re lucky, boring. With Rivers still mostly absent looking for Dave’s brother, Klaus has no one to keep him company. It’s good to know that _some_ of his fuckups are forgivable, even if it was less of a mistake on Klaus’ part and more of an error in judgement on how his friends would react to something that challenged their worldview. 

Shooting a look at Chaz out of the corner of his eye, Klaus runs a hand over his hair. Conscious of listening ears, he says, “Thanks, by the way. For being uh. Discreet.” 

Chaz’s eyes get a little tight. His mouth quirks, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. “Guess I have to be when you two aren’t,” he mutters. 

Klaus laughs. “Guess I should apologize for that too.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Chaz declares. Klaus gets the distinct impression that he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Great for you that you managed to find a distraction. Hope it keeps working. Just cover your own ass, alright?” 

Klaus makes an X over his heart, which prompts Chaz to roll his eyes. They go back to silence that’s a little more tense than it was before, and not long after that, Klaus chooses to slip off to mingle with people who know less about him. He glances in the back of the truck first, just out of curiosity, and finds Dave asleep, chin propped up on his fist. The sight makes Klaus smile. A friendly arm is thrown around his shoulders and Klaus is drawn away from Dave and into someone else’s conversation. 

The next few hours pass that way, and honestly, Klaus can’t even complain about boredom when Dave is finally catching up on all the sleep he’s missed. It’s peaceful in a way, even if ghosts sidle closer with every passing hour and the morphine pills in his pocket get more and more appealing. He flits from group to group, conversation to conversation, irritating Chaz more than a few times. As long as they’re walking, Klaus has something else to focus on—which is why he’s more than a little anxious when the convoy finally stops to break. 

It’s closer to evening than it is to noon, but they’ll pick back up again in a few minutes. Klaus drums nervous fingers against his leg, staring down a pair of ghosts that have been orbiting him for the past few hours. Before they can get closer, Klaus turns on his feel and marches towards the truck. Dave is still asleep. 

Klaus reaches out to shake his knee. Dave’s hand falters, chin slipping off his fist. His head jerks back up, all wide-eyed surprise, but he softens at the sight of Klaus. “I must still be dreaming,” he says. 

“And you said you weren’t up for sleeping.” 

Dave stretches, back popping. He slides out of the truck, grimacing at the sunlight shining from just over the horizon. Reaching out to cup Klaus’ face, Dave says, “Well, you do say you’re always right.” 

“It’s true.” 

Dave releases him and looks around as if realizing for the first time that they’ve stopped and that it’s far later in the day than it had been when he’d first hopped in the back of the car. “Guess I must’ve been tired.” 

“Again—” 

“You’re always right, I know.” Dave waves a hand, laughing. It’s the closest he’s seemed to being his usual self in days and that alone makes Klaus beam. “Where’s Chaz? I probably ought to talk to him.” 

Nodding up past the front of the truck, Klaus says, “Up there, last I saw.” 

Dave turns to head that way, his fingers tugging against Klaus’ arm in a silent request to follow him. A soldier calls to them as they walk, “Nice nap?” and Dave just rolls his eyes. 

The ghosts linger behind Klaus uncomfortably close. It would be hypocritical of Klaus to harangue Dave about his sleeping habits only to impair himself with drugs, but he probably has a joint tucked in a pocket somewhere. He does find one, but it’s so small that it will probably only give him an hour of reprieve. It doesn’t matter—he just has to last until the night anyway. The real problem is that he can’t find his lighter. Honestly, Klaus can’t hang onto one of those for the life of him. 

Resting his chin on Dave’s shoulder, Klaus asks, “Can I borrow your lighter?” 

Dave smiles and shakes his head fondly, handing him the zippo. Resisting the urge to kiss him on the cheek, Klaus takes it and presses it to his lips instead. “Get back to work,” Dave chuckles with an affectionate eye roll. 

“Yes, sir,” Klaus says cheekily as he backs away. He lights up his joint as he walks and tucks the lighter in his breast pocket. The relief doesn’t come instantly; it’s hardly enough to mute the ghosts, and Klaus knows it won’t last too long. He stands at the edge of the line, staring off into the trees as he smokes. A few other men follow his example. Klaus has always kind of hated this part of troop movement—standing around waiting to be told what to do. It makes him itch.

Somehow, the jungle manages to be both too loud and too quiet at the same time. It’s the depth of the trees, Klaus thinks, how they just seem to go on forever, getting darker. Anything could be moving out there. Klaus probably wouldn’t notice it on a good day, and especially not now, when he’s standing on the ridge of the hill daydreaming.

The crack of a rifle going off makes Klaus flinch and duck, dropping to a crouch. “Just had to jinx myself, huh?” he mutters, spitting out the remnants of his joint and swinging his rifle over his shoulder. Other soldiers are shouting and scrambling for cover, but there’s no more gunfire and no screaming for a medic. _Please be a misfire._

Silence falls over the platoon. From where he’s crouched behind a tree, Klaus can’t see Dave, but there’s no new, terrible ghost, so he must be all right. Klaus bites his lip, finger tapping nervously on the trigger guard of his rifle. Across from him, a soldier kneeling behind a truck glances in Klaus’ direction, moving as if to stand. Klaus shakes his head. It’s Frankie, Rivers’ friend. Klaus had never really talked to him, but he’d seemed glum at Rivers’ wake, despite the fact that Rivers only griped about the fact that Frankie owed him money. Now, he only shrugs, adjusting his rifle as he rises from his knees. 

He falls immediately, the bullet to his neck spraying blood across the leaves. 

The first immediate thought that springs to Klaus’ mind is, _Oh, well now Rivers can collect on his loan._ Frankie’s death gurgles shake Klaus out of his morbid headspace. Hidden as he is in grass and leaves, Klaus can’t see Frankie’s face clearly, but the ground underneath him turns dark and muddy. It always surprises him just how _much_ blood a person can lose. The sight of it makes Klaus’ palms sweat, heartbeat kicking up into his throat. There’s nothing he can do about it. 

Klaus tugs his helmet down with a trembling hand in the hopes that he can avoid eye contact with the ghost who’s just flickered into view, blood soaking the front of his uniform and a look of confusion in his eyes. As gunfire starts up amongst the trees, Klaus starts rifling through his pockets. It’s bad timing, but what can you do? Rivers isn’t around to bully this one away, and he’s _really_ distracting standing over his own body, gurgling. He’d never admit it out loud, but Klaus is really starting to wish all ghosts had Rivers’ live-and-let-live approach towards dying. 

“Oh, god,” Frankie is wailing, clutching at fistfuls of his hair. His voice sounds watery, like something’s caught in his throat, bubbling up through the hole in his neck. Klaus starts humming in an attempt to drown out the noise. He hadn’t _quite_ managed enough of his joint to drown out the terrified wails of the dead. His hands are growing more desperate as the gunfire increases in frequency and volume.

The tree he’s hiding behind vibrates, splinters exploding into the air as a bullet buries itself not six inches from Klaus’ head. “Maybe drugs aren’t such a great idea,” he mutters, shrinking down into the collar of his vest. Risking a glance at the ghost—there are two of them now, but the other is standing further away and Klaus only stops to look at him long enough to assure himself that it isn’t Dave—Klaus hisses, “Hey! Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate here!” 

The ghost’s head swivels his way, eyes filled with tears.The ghost is pale, eyes filmed over, blood pooling in the hollow of his throat—a sight that’s surely reflected in the body lying in the tall grass. “You can see me?” 

“I can hear you too, but if you don’t shut up, I won’t live much longer to do so.” 

He takes a step forward. “You can see me?” 

Klaus rolls his eyes. That gamble didn’t really play out in his favor. Gritting his teeth, he rises to his feet. If he’s fast enough, and lucky, he can make it across the tree line towards the truck where the soldier died, and hopefully towards Dave. Just as he’s about to steady himself to run, the ghost steps in front of him, hands outstretched like he’s pleading. “Please,” he says. 

Klaus stumbles backwards in surprise, shying away from the bloody hands. In the back of his mind, Klaus knows that the ghost can’t touch him, but instinct overrides that part of his brain. He gives ground as the ghost advances, feet slipping on wet leaves and loose soil. “Listen,” Klaus says as the ghost reaches for him again. “I can’t help you if I’m dead, so—” His foot falls back onto empty air. Oh. Right. He’d been standing on a ridge. 

He has a brief second to think, _Jesus, nothing_ is _ever easy,_ and then he’s falling backwards, out of sight of the battle, and a second after that, something slams into the side of Klaus’ skull, and he stops thinking entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all keep telling me not to kill off Dave, but you never said shit about Klaus


End file.
